


Promptageddon: Crenny Edition

by EtchedGhost



Category: South Park
Genre: Assume something in here will be explicit, Crenny, Kenny McCormick - Freeform, M/M, Possibly anything could happen in here, craig tucker - Freeform, south park - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:01:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtchedGhost/pseuds/EtchedGhost
Summary: Come one, come all!Come see the spectacle of delight!. Here lies a mystical realm of tried ideas or suggested Crenny prompts, that with your approval, can become fully fledged fics in their own right.. Want to suggest something? Tumblr, message, comment, carrier pigeon, smoke signal. All valid forms to let me know (I'd suggest not using the last two.). See something in here you like and you've become inspired to build from it? Go forth and create with my blessing. May Crenny smile upon you as you do so.
Relationships: Kenny McCormick/Craig Tucker
Comments: 73
Kudos: 33





	1. Smooth Criminal

**Author's Note:**

> DA BORING STUFF
> 
> . If a chapter is popular/I like a concept, I'll spin it off into its own story. Otherwise, they'll likely stay as samples. 
> 
> . These are not meant to be one shots. They're meant to be more...samples. Like the flavours of ice cream you try before picking one. They won't be long, but they'll hopefully give a gist of the idea. 
> 
> . I'll include a separate summary for each prompt chapter at the end of the chapter (to avoid spoilers). Be warned, none of the chapters will be related, they are all separate in idea. 
> 
> . Feel free to suggest a prompt/idea you'd like to see. My only request is that it's Crenny (Craig x Kenny). I am flexible with other pairing suggestions, and I'm willing to tiptoe into another character/other characters joining in on the Crenny fun. However, it'll be Crenny focused. 
> 
> . Also, if you see an idea here, and you think "Oh yeah, I totally wanna write/draw/interpretive dance/animate/etc from that idea!" please, feel free to go ahead. You totes have my permission to do so. This is my official permissioning.
> 
> . FOR CREEKERS: I respect the canonship of Creek, and can appreciate that Creek fans may wonder, why Crenny? For those people, I can only apologise that I'm not able to provide what would satisfy that, but I'm a Crenny fan/writer so...this series probably isn't for you :D
> 
> . I'm on tumblr (same username) for any prompt requests. Or feel free to message/comment. Or carrier pigeon, or smoke signal (cannot guarantee I'll get messages from the last two).

* * *

##  **SMOOTH CRIMINAL  
  
**

* * *

_Story Song: Michael Jackson - Smooth Criminal  
Story Song (Craig's): Genesis - Jesus He Knows Me  
Story Song (Kenny's): Harold Faltermeyer - Axel F_

* * *

  
  
So.   
  
  
Running this way hadn't been the best of ideas...but fuck, was she a lot faster than he was counting on.   
  
  
He'd been doing as he'd always done. Today's sermon had been a rehash of Hebrews 13:5. And he'd, as always, been dressed from head to toe for the part.   
  
  
  
_"Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”  
  
_And people amened, and spoke along with him as he preached. And afterwards, when they had gone into silent prayer, he'd walked along the aisles, passing people, praising the word of God, how money was evil, how casting away money was the only true way into the Kingdom of God. And it worked as well as it usually did. No one ever doubted him. One who had taken the path of god, who had sworn himself to the ways of the lord almighty.  
  
And it was then that he'd met eyes with her. Long, red hair, tied into a modest low ponytail. Black dress, matched with a silk scarf around her neck of pale yellow. And she had looked at him almost nervously, with an expression of demure awe and innocence in her blue eyes. Her nose had been cute, small, and spattered with freckles. The sort of woman that was inexperienced, trusting. And he had heard her call out to him as he passed the pew she sat at.   
  
_"Father. I find myself..humbled by your words. I have recently found myself as a..young widow you see. I came...to pray for him."_ And her eyes had teared up ever so slightly, but she shook her head to compose herself.   
  
_"I am saddened to hear. Your dearly beloved is within God's Kingdom now."_  
  
_"I am...most thankful to hear that. I recently found myself in...receipt of his life insurance, but..after your sermon, I find myself wondering if perhaps the money would be better...removed from my possession."_  
  
He had nodded slowly, in understanding. And she had looked up at him with an element of..well, he would call it deference.   
  
_"What should I do, Father?"_  
  
She was young. Perhaps similar in age to him, maybe a little younger. And clearly naive.  
  
_"Well, I would tell you to look to the words of God. Matthew 10:9 states: Acquire no gold nor silver nor copper for your belts. Or perhaps Timothy 2:9: Likewise also that women should adorn themselves in respectable apparel, with modesty and self-control, not with braided hair and gold or pearls or costly attire."_  
  
_"But Father, I know not what to do with my fortune. It is a costly amount. Should I donate it? Or would that simply inflict the curse of material possession to another."_  
  
_"The only way is to offer it up to better serve the noblest of causes. "_  
  
_"How would I do that father?"_ And she had looked at him, as if appealing to him. _  
  
_  
  
He had met many like her. She'd be no different. That was what he had told himself, and now he felt as if he'd been the one that was naive.  
  
It had been the perfect trap. And he had agreed to meet her after his sermon, to discuss what best to do with the sum of $132000. He had a few ideas. Enough so that his 'flock' were unlikely to see him again once the payment had gone through. It was enough to get him out of LA. He'd been planning to move on soon. So, he had asked her to the back.  
  
Except she had not been alone.  
  
There had been two others. One tall, dark skinned, and the other, slightly stockier and shorter. Both in cop uniforms. He'd looked to her, and she'd flashed him an uncharacteristic grin which seemed to contrast with the soft pink lipstick she had worn. It was a grin flashed, and then a badge.  
  
LAPD.  
  
The grin, or the badge. He honestly didn't know which one he'd found more annoying.   
  
  
So he'd run. And the two cops had been surprised, which was as expected. But she'd made chase, the other two following close behind. But this wasn't his first heist. He'd toured many places, swindled many devout believers. Apparently all you needed was an honest look about you, a bit of charisma, and an ability to memorise bible verses and make them into what you needed them to be. Easy.  
  
It helped that he had prepared for days like this. He could outrun the cops pretty easily. It was his stupid mistake that he'd ended up at the docks. In his defense, he hadn't expected the small, slight redhead to be so damn quick.  
And in a dress as well.   
  
And the two other cops had now caught up, and he realised very quickly, he couldn't think himself out of this. He had to try and wait, and then run again.   
  
And he'd tried for that.   
  
Except that...woman had seen him, had tackled him. And he reasoned he was stronger than her, that it didn't matter if she slowed him by a few seconds. So they'd struggled on the floor for a moment. But she'd surprised him with her strength, and a few seconds became many seconds, and many more, and he could not get her off.  
  
And then, it was too late, her companions had caught up, and were able to restrain him. And she dug a knee into his back as the handcuffs she put on him bit slightly into his wrists.  
  
And he noted one very important thing, that honestly explained a lot of things.  
  
  
"Craig Tucker, you're under arrest for Tax evasion, Bank Fraud, Credit Card Fraud, Identity Theft, Forgery, Real Estate Fraud. Jesus man...do I have to read the whole list?"   
  
  
  
That was not a female voice. Not by any means. Not even the deepest voiced of women had a voice like that.   
  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Ugh....Internet Fraud, Charity Fraud, Tax Fraud...Fuck, surely it'd be quicker to tell this guy what he _hasn't_ done."  
  
  
  
The brunet cop laughed, but the taller cop frowned.   
  
"Fine....Money Laundering, Health Fraud, Pet Insurance Fraud, and various other crimes that I'm sure someone else will be happy to list for you later. Consider this the Tl;Dr version."  
  
  
A sigh, and then one of the other two began to recite his full list of crimes.   
  
  
"We have to do this. And you can't just 'tl;dr' it." The brunet cop said softly to the she--he devil. Craig was still able to hear the conversation despite the cop nearest to him dutifully reciting all his many, many crimes.   
  
"Yeah. Just...there were a lot. Like, a fuck ton. There's like a page of that shit, man."  
  
"Dude, Chief is gonna have your head if he hears you've been half assing this stuff."  
  
"I'm NOT half assing it. Just, the dumbass there knows what he's done, he doesn't need us to tell him."  
  
  
"You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?"

The other, clearly more experienced cop recited, waiting for his answer.   
  
"No" Craig answered blandly, glancing over at the redhead, who was still in discussion with the brunette.   
  
And the cop hoisted him off the floor, walking him along the docks.   
  
  
And he reasoned to himself, if they knew his real name, well, he was pretty fucking screwed.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
He sat in a room, waiting. He been allowed to change out of his 'Father' clothing, and currently wore a hoodie that had been left in the lost and found...three years ago. He grimaced at the thought, but decided that it was better than sitting here looking like he was about to conduct a sermon.   
  
  
The room was surprisingly mirrorless. Interesting.   
  
  
The door opened, and a tall, wideset, dark skinned man walked in, fixing him with a calm look.   
  
  
"Craig Tucker. I'm Chief Jerome McElroy."  
  
  
"...Charmed."   
  
  
McElroy sat.   
  
  
"I've heard that you refused the offer of a lawyer."  
  
"Correct."  
  
"Can I ask why?"  
  
"You can ask." And Craig left it at that.   
  
  
McElroy sat at the desk silently, waiting. At first, Craig thought this was an odd form of silent treatment interrogation. And then he looked at his watch, and sighed.   
  
  
"Excuse me for one moment."  
  
  
And he stood, opening the door.  
  
  
"Birch."  
  
  
"Chief?"  
  
  
"Where the hell is McCormick??"  
  
  
"I haven't seen him Chief."  
  
  
"Can you get someone to find him, he's supposed to be here right now."  
  
  
"Will do Chie-"  
  
  
Their quiet conversation was interrupted as they were clearly distracted by something.   
  
  
"Sorry Chief, my bad."  
  
  
Craig recognised that voice. That voice was unlikely to be a voice he'd forget for a good, long while...  
  
And unlike the demure, soft-spoken femininity of his earlier performance, this was rough, grating and very much masculine.  
  
  
"McCormick, you're supposed to be on time to these things."  
  
  
"Sorry, I was trying to get out of those damn clothes, and then Testaburger was riding my ass about my paperwork-which I will do, but she was all _"McCormick, you need to keep on top of things otherwise your workspace will suffer."_ The voice turned feminine and high pitched, as if mocking the original speaker.   
  
"McCormick."  
  
"Yeah Chief?"  
  
"...Get in the damn room."  
  
"Yes Chief."  
  
  
And Craig sat back took stock of this 'McCormick'.   
  
Short blond hair instead of long red hair. A police uniform instead of a dress. The facial features were clear of any makeup. No lipstick, no eyeliner, no mascara. The freckles were apparently real though.   
  
  
"Glad to see Miss man has joined us." he commented dryly as the Chief took a seat. The blond however, remained standing. Blue eyes met his own.   
  
  
"Good to see you too, Father. How's the God life treating ya?"  
  
  
"About as well as can be expected. Black's not your colour by the way. Makes you look ill. Try green next time. Really doll up for that dead husband of yours. And maybe aim for larger...assets. Might be enough to bring him back to life. Who knows, God works in mysterious ways..." And he gestured with both hands over his upper chest region as he spoke.  
  
  
The blond, palms against the table, leaned towards him slightly.   
  
  
"A con man and a pervert. I'd act surprised, but you've pretty much committed every fucking crime that's ever existed."  
  
Craig rolled his eyes.   
  
"It's not my fault that when you tell people to _'get down on their knees and start paying',_ they actually do it."  
  
  
"And you're not even fucking sorry are you?"  
  
  
"Why would I be?"  
  
  
"You're a real fucking-"  
  
  
"McCormick!"  
  
  
The blond shrank back slightly.  
  
  
"Chief?"  
  
  
"Stop arguing with the arrestee. And sit your ass down."  
  
  
"Yes Chief." And he sat down.   
  
  
"So, your...obedient attitude from earlier wasn't an act after all. Just needed the right person to tell you to 'sit'. Such a good boy." Craig crooned mildly, his smirk apparent. As predicted, this set the blond off, who shot out of his seat so quickly it knocked the chair back slightly. So predictable.   
  
"You son of a-"  
  
"McCormick. If you don't sit your butt down on that damn chair and keep it there, I'm gonna need to pull another officer in for this, and you can go and get on with doing your paperwork. Am I understood?"  
  
  
".."  
  
"Am I understood McCormick?"  
  
"Yes Chief." And the hothead slunk back into his chair, trying, and failing to look composed.   
  
  
'Good boy' Craig mouthed at him. The eyes lit up with anger, and the blond flipped him off. If the Chief saw this, he chose to ignore it.   
  
  
"Now we're all here, we can talk about why we're here."  
  
  
"I think I can guess." Craig rolled his eyes.   
  
  
"See, now I don't think you do."  
  
  
"Please, wow me then."  
  
  
McElroy flipped open the folder in front of him.   
  
  
"Craigory Tucker."  
  
The blond sniggered, and Craig's eyes shot over to him. He simply mouthed 'Craigory' and then leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself. Craig measured the distance between them. He could probably reach and kick that chair backwards enough for the idiot to fall over.

  
  
"Top student, passed with highest honors. Went on to take several con artist pseudonyms Jeffrey Archer, Ronald Dohalt, Chris Rynd, Father Terrance O'Healy... Trekked your way across the major states, scamming, hacking and frauding everyone and everything, always skipping town juuust before we got wind of you, and then you'd change your name again. You got sloppy though. You just _happened_ to be in the background of a photo taken of someone's pet. And when that pet went missing, that just happened to be the picture used. And it was McCormick here that recognised you from a fraud case he was working on, and that the description matched."

  
  
Craig glanced at the blond, who raised both eyebrows in a mocking greeting, a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, the 'I'm pleased with myself' expression still very prevalent. So, it was because of him that he'd been caught. That was pretty depressing. How sloppy had he gotten that this...person could piece things together. 

  
"I guess you're not completely incompetent as a cop then, kiddo." Craig drawled. And he watched as the remark hit home, and the smirk faded almost immediately. Yup, definitely sensitive about that. That had stung. And the blond hotly opened his mouth to reply, but the Chief held up a hand.   
  
"But more importantly, is why we haven't started any form of interrogation."  
  
Craig did find that...odd. And so did the blond from the looks of things.   
  
"See, we have a little...problem. And we need your help."  
  
"Lemme guess, this is the 'We have an even BIGGER badder baddie we want to lock up, but all our cops are too goody goody to infiltrate, so we need a baddie who's on our side. It's the 'We need to send a snake in to deal with a snake' trope. Hard pass." Craig responded.   
  
"Well, that saves me time, I don't have to explain things to you. And you already know that you only have two choices, so I'm sure that you won't waste my time with saying no."  
  
Craig shrugged.   
  
"I guess not. I just wanna know exactly what you're planning to offer me, who it is. That sorta shit."  
  
Craig had to hand it to the Chief. He was far better at composure than his little police officer next to him was.   
  
And it hit him.   
  
Why that...kid was here.   
  
Because you don't send a snake in without someone to hold their leash.   
  
Fuck. This was almost worth saying no to.   
  
And clearly the blond hadn't figured it out yet. Well, at least that would be fun to watch, if anything.   
  
"A full pardon for previous crimes."

"Wait what? Chief, I spent MONTHS looking for this guy!"

"I thought women liked it when men played hard to get. Didn't wanna deny you a good chase."

"Chief, you can't be thinking of letting him go right? Not after all he's done."

Craig sighed. So loud.

  
"I want a little something more, especially if you're gonna make me deal with him." And he pointed at the blond. McElroy leaned in slightly, looking impressed.  
  
"You realise kid, that if you'd used your..impressive mind for less criminal activities.-"  
  
"-I'd be as poor and overworked as you all? Save me the 'you could do so much with your skills' lecture. If you're gonna send in your golden retriever over there, I want something else as well."  
  
"Fuck you dipshit. Also, Chief, what does he mean? Surely you're not gonna-"  
  
"-You're not really in the position to negotiate here, Craig." The Chief spoke over the blond, in an effort to return to order, giving the blond a warning look.   
  
"See, here's the thing. I say no, you lock me away, and I spend time being fed, given a place to stay. I say yes, I have to deal with him. Honestly, I'd say prison's the better option here."  
  
"You-"  
  
"McCormick, I won't tell you again."  
  
"Tch...."  
  
The Chief surveyed him quietly for a moment.   
  
"What is it you want?"  
  
"Details on a person."  
  
The Chief looked surprised.   
  
"Details?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm looking for someone. They're pretty difficult to track down. I figured that if you managed a half decent job of catching me, this should be no problem."  
  
"So, a full pardon, and we find someone for you?"  
  
"That's my price." He sat back, folding his arms.   
  
"And in return, you work for us, and you work alongside Officer McCormick."  
  
"Wait, what?! I never agreed to this Chief!"  
  
  
"McCormick. Do you, or do you not work for this department?"  
  
"I do sir."  
  
"And do you or do you not report onto me?"  
  
"..I do sir."  
  
"Then I'd suggest you take Craig here to get his belongings, and get him fitted, before I have to remind you of what your job is."  
  
  
"...Yes Chief." And Craig found it heavily entertaining that the blond was glowering at him. As if it was somehow his fault that the blond had been chastised.   
  
  
"McCormick is one of our best undercover and espionage officers, as you've no doubt experienced personally. You'll need someone who won't give the game away, and he's your best bet. Originally...we were going to send him in with other officers, but then you fell into our lap."  
  
"Lucky me." Craig responded with an abundance of sarcasm. He looked to the blond.   
  
"Let's get to it crossdresser."  
  
The blond said nothing, just nodded to the Chief, making he way out of the room. Both Craig and the Chief heard the poorly muffled sounds of loud cursing outside the door. The Chief sighed.   
  
  
"He's good at what he does."  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
And Craig found himself following after the shorter blond, who he felt was trying to get away from him. Craig was easily able to remedy that with longer strides, which he was pleased to note, pissed the blond off.   
  
"So, what do I call you?"  
  
"Why does that fucking matter?"  
  
"Oh well excuse me. I just figured, if we're gonna be working together that I might need to call you something. No worries though, I'm pretty inventive with names. I was thinking Raggedy Ann? To remember our fond time in the church together."  
  
"...Kenny."  
  
"Annie did you say?"  
  
"Fucking-My.name.is. Kenny." Kenny gritted his teeth.   
  
"You look so annoyed. Don't worry Annie, the sun will come out tomorrow. Basic science and all."  
  
Kenny span quickly, causing Craig to skid to a stop.   
  
"Look, you fuck. I'm only doing this because I HAVE to. Don't make this fucking difficult."   
  
And there was silence for a moment. And then.  
  
"I've decided."  
  
"..What?"  
  
"Pippi Longstocking."  
  
Kenny started counting and nodding.  
  
"..What are you doing?"  
  
"Checking that murder is still fucking illegal in all the states."  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Craig is a Con Artist who is caught by Kenny, an LAPD officer. Craig is useful to the LAPD, so they strike a deal with him. He agrees. Kenny has to work with him. Rivalshipping galore. 
> 
> Wanna see the kinda scam Craig was pulling at the beginning, but on a smaller, less televised scale?: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EprQGmZ3Imw&ab_channel=too0pathetic


	2. True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2. Summary of chapter will be at the end (to avoid spoiler). This was requested as a prompt by Killer_Queen. I hope it met with your expectations ♥️
> 
> As always lovely people, let me know your thoughts!

* * *

##  **TRUE**

* * *

_Story Song: Spandau Ballet- True  
  
_

* * *

Kenny was not glad to be back. Not at all.

10th grade sucked. It was more schoolwork, more people complaining that he needed to 'buck up his grades'. He kept being told in ninth grade that he was a 'good kid, he just needed to be more focused.'

He didn't want to be a 'good kid'.

He was currently stuck in media studies. First day back, and their teacher had decided she'd go easy on them for the first day. So, for the double period, for TWO HOURS, Kenny was forced to sit through _Pretty Woman_ , as an introduction to studies on the romance genre 

The list to be covered was depressing. Pretty Woman, Bridget Jones' Diary, When Harry Met Sally, Isn't it Romantic, 16 Candles. 

Ugh. What the hell did their teacher expect a bunch of fifteen year olds to be able to take away from sappy romcom representations of romance anyway? 

Kenny sure as hell didn't care about romance. Unless of course it was the union between person and hand. That was about as 'romantic' as it got. 

Kenny had only chosen this class because it sounded like an easy subject. Sit and watch movies, sounded pretty sweet. Except, no one had told him that his teacher was a sappy bitch. And because of that, Kenny was stuck here, bored out of his mind, wondering when the help this movie was going to be over.

It didn't even make fucking SENSE. No rich guy is gonna pick up some lady of the night broad, and pay her to spend time with him. Why would he do that? A guy like him could totally get it for free, or could at least fork out for a high class escort. Why pick someone up from the street corner?

This film was stupid. That would be the title of his essay on it.

He began to imagine what he'd like to write for the essay.

_The romance genre is a trap, to fool unsuspecting 'bleeding hearts' interested in the genre into thinking that's how life works._

_Life isn't like that. Life is selfish, it takes. People don't want romance, they want security, they want excitement, they want the chemical high. Romance is just an entryway drug._

He'd probably get an F for that one. It'd almost be worth it. Except he was guaranteed to fuck up some of his classes, so he needed an easy pass from this. He didn't wanna repeat a year. 

  
  


He was sat next to Red, trying to ignore her small sighs and 'awws', unable to completely resist rolling his eyes when it happened. He didn't even know why she'd sat there of all places anyway. Her other friends were over in the corner. For some reason Bebe kept giving her a thumbs up. Whatever.

His old group of friends once upon a time were sat a ways away. At least, the ones who had bothered to take this shitty class were. Although why Stan was even in here was beyond him. He'd taken the seat next to Kyle, but his head was on the desk. He didn't even take this class. And he looked fucking rough. Another night with his friends Jack and Jameson from the looks of things. It wasn’t a great look if he was honest, but that was Stan.  
  
Maybe he was hoping to find the answers to his existential crisis at the bottom of his two liquidy friends. Honestly, it wasn’t on him. That was Kyle’s job. He’d tried, and tried and tried. And Stan still preferred drinking to not making his girlfriend cry. Kyle somehow, still hadn’t given up on straightening Stan out. Huh, he could add that to his essay.  
  
_Romance is wrestling your ‘best friend’s’ drink from his hand for the umteenth time. Not giving up hope, despite being proved wrong each time, because romance is a boner for a friend that just won’t quit._

He covered his hand to stop himself from smirking. Probably cruel to tease Kyle’s obvious crush. But you know what was crueler? Stan fucking Kyle one night when drunk, and going back to his girlfriend in the morning. That was true cruelty.  
  
And it kinda pissed him off as well. He was slowly becoming the only person in their friendgroup who hadn’t actually done anything. And he was considered the ‘easy’ one. His reputation truly astounded him. And it didn’t abate. Pretty sure everyone thought he’d fucked everyone at this stage. 

He sighed, his eyes drifting back to the screen, where Julia Roberts was apparently really into bubblebaths. And that shit is really bad for your hair. She clearly didn’t have her priorities in order. Getting distracted by the bath and Prince. This guy was good. Really knew the fucking way to a womnan’s heart.  
  
Wait, was he seriously analysing this stupid film? Like, seriously?  
  
He felt a slight nudge, and turned to his left. 

“You okay?” She mouthed to him. He raised an eyebrow and nodded, giving her an easy smile, before turning away. 

  
Red had changed this summer. She’d been so fucking weird around him. Ignoring him, and then asking him to hang out, and then spending hours talking about the most inane stuff that was easy to solve. Yes, Red needed to work on her eyeliner game, and yes, he’d shown her how to do it. Yes, she used the wrong foundation shade that didn’t match her undertone (he’d told her this already) These were easy things to solve.  
  
He blamed it on his status as an ‘honourary girl’ after his Princess Kenny days.  
  
So what if he knew more about makeup than most guys did? That didn’t make him a girl. He liked what he liked.

If a bit of subtle eyeliner made his eyes look fucking banging, he wasn’t gonna stop. And if drawing in his eyebrows was the only way for him to actually have any, then he’d damn well do it. Being a blond wasn’t always fun in that regard. And he didn't give a flying fuck if people thought it was girly. He liked having eyebrows thank you very much.

He left people alone, and expected the same from them. And he was usually friendly enough a person that people found him agreeable, ‘quirks’ and all. Like the lot of them could say anything after the ‘metrosexual’ craze that spread through the school. 

God, this film was so looong. And it was obvious the two of them would end up together. That’s what romcom really meant. ‘They get together’.  
  
Was this really romance? He’d never...really liked anyone. He’d read playboys/girls, he’d watched porn. He’d been horny and he’d felt lust.  
  
Was that all there was?  
  
Was there a scenario out there where he’d be deliriously happy with the idea of spending time with someone, where it wasn’t lust, but...something else. Something he’d not encountered, so couldn’t be entirely sure whether it was real, or whether ‘rom-coms’ were no better than sci fi, or fantasy as a genre.  
  
He glanced at Red. Red was...pretty enough he supposed. And she offered him a smile, her eyes not leaving his.  
Maybe romance was something you didn’t know was happening. Maybe it just felt normal.  
  
Had Red, or Bebe, or Annie, or any of the girls ever felt romance? Did Wendy feel romantic towards Stan, despite their ups and downs? Had he missed some kind of memo?  
  
And an excruciating hour and a half later, he was still..pondering this idea. And he walked to his locker  
  
“Kenny, wait up!”  
  
He turned to see Red. Again? He plastered on a smile.  
  
“What’s up Red?”  
  
“Nothing much. wanted to ask what you thought of class.”  
  
She was so...fidgety. What the hell was up with her?  
  
“Yeah, it was okay. Never seen that film before” And he never would again.  
  
Red gave him a wide eyed look.  
“Really? You’ve never seen Pretty Woman before? Well, what did you think?” She held her binder close to her chest as they walked.  
  
“It was…” Terrible? Trite? Boring?  
  
“...An interesting take on romance.” He finished.  
  
“Oh, I totally agree. Ithink it’s probably one of the most romantic films ever made. It’s one of my favourites. I really think it highlights true romance. I think my essay is gonna be on it. Or maybe I’ll pick Dirty Dancing. Or Titanic.”  
  
Ah yes, their essay  
  
_Discuss the concept of romance, using one or more media examples._ _  
_ _  
_ He was dreading writing it. Mostly because it meant watching more terrible movies. Or he could struggle on and try to remember what the hell Pretty Woman had been about apart from a prostitute getting lucky.  
  
“What do you think you’ll pick?”  
  
He had no idea.  
  
“Uh, I think I’ll need to do more...research? I mean. I…”  
  
Had no idea what romance was. Maybe he should just flunk the essay.  
  
But he wanted the easy pass of this class dammit. And they’d only be on romance for so long. He had to grit his teeth and do it.

”...yeah, more research, more films." He finished lamely.  
  
Red had given him a look. As if analysing him. He didn’t like that look.  
  
“You know...we could always hang out and watch some movies. We could do it at mine if you wanted. Might be fun with two of us.”  
  
This felt weird. This wasn’t like ‘Hey Kenny, let’s go shopping for contour sticks. I found a great shade” kinda asking. This was...something else. He wasn’t sure he liked it. 

And were this a scene in a novel, this would be the moment one of his friends would save him by interrupting.  
  
Any minute.  
  
...Like, right now.  
  
...Fuck. 

“Kenny?”  
  
“I..ll have to get back to you if that’s cool. First day back, might get a ton of homework.”  
  
She looked a little taken aback, but nodded, a smile returning to her features.  
  
“Oh yeah, sorry, I totally didn’t think about that. Okay, well, I’ll see you in Home Ec later then?”  
  
“Absolutely” He flashed her a grin, feeling oddly false with the whole exchange. Red was being weird. He was being weird. They were usually cool. What the hell was Red doing being so damn weird?  
  
An arm snuck around his shoulders, and tightened, as he was given a very unwanted noogie.  
  
“Kennnny, I saw you talking with Reeeed. So, what’s up with that my man?”  
  
“Nothing. And get the fuck off.” Kenny pulled out of Clyde’s grip, He hated it when Clyde did that to him. Also, where was Clyde like...two minutes ago?

Kenny grimaced as he tried to fix the state his hair was now in.  
  
“Seriously dude, I always say ‘not the hair’, and what do you do?”

Clyde simply grinned at him, absolutely no contriteness in his expression.  
  
Clyde Donovan, one of his ‘dark horse’ friends that over the years, had snuck his way up into Kenny’s favoured friends. After Kenny had drifted from the...mess that was Stan and Kyle, he’d been almost adopted by the once short, slightly chubby kid, who was no longer short, nor chubby.  
  
He was well past Kenny’s own height, and had filled out in the shoulder area. Clyde now had the look of someone who would fuck you up in the hallway, which was pretty hilarious considering how much of a soft touch he actually was.  
  
“You can’t hide anything from me dude. Red was eying you up just then. She wants some McLoving from McCormick.”  
  
“That’s not what happened, you’re making shit up.”  
  
“Dude, I swear, she was thiiis close to having her tongue hanging out. How did you not notice this?”  
  
“She just wanted to talk about dumb movies or something. I dunno. Something about watching ‘em at hers.”  
  
Clyde leaned against the lockers as Kenny began the painful process that was opening his ‘sticky’ locker.  
  
“Dude. She was hitting on you. She wanted to...ya know.”  
  
“Know what? C’mon you dumb ass-” Kenny asked, his attention on his locker, that despite having been unlocked, still refused to open.  
  
“That was the girly equivalent of asking you to ‘Netflix and chill’.  
  
“-Fucking lock-ah! Gotcha! Wait, what about Netflix and Chill?”  
  
Clyde groaned.  
  
“DUDE. You’re so fucking oblivious. Red is smokin’, and she’s INTO you, and she WANTS some. Why do I need to spell this out to you? Seriously, it’s like you’re defective when it comes to this kinda lovey dovey crap.’  
  
Kenny, who had been pulling out his English Lit book, looked to Clyde.  
  
“I’m not defective.”  
  
Clyde’s eyes softened, and he nudged Kenny with his shoulder.  
  
“Dude, I know...but like, you’re really bad at noticing this stuff. I don’t get it. How did you even get a ‘playboy’ reputation being such an oblivious..wallflower?”  
  
“Reading dirty mags as a kid kinda cemented it. Dunno what else it could be.”  
  
“Hey Kenny!” Bebe waved her fingernails at him. Kenny noted the acrylic nails.  
  
“Hey Bebe. New nails?”  
  
She looked at her nails, fanning her fingers out as if preening.  
  
“Gorgeous, aren’t they? $25 for the full set at the little place over at SoDoSoPa.”  
  
“I approve.” Kenny offered with a wink. He knew what place she was talking about.

"Did Red catch you by the way, she said she needed to talk to you."

"Oh, yeah. It was about class."

  
“Bebe, you’re looking...luscious.” Bebe glanced to Clyde, who was attempting a smouldering look.  
  
“Oh. Hey Donovan. Thanks. Anyway, Kenny, I need to nab you at some point this week.”

"Oh? What you got planned"

"Nothing much. Cousin has a birthday party, need some opinions."

  
“Sure. Just let me know when”  
  
“Thanks Kenny, I will. I’ll see you in Home Ec.” And she wriggled her fingernails in goodbye. Clyde waited until she had gone and then slumped against the lockers.  
  
“That! That’s why people think you’re a playboy.”  
  
Kenny looked to Clyde, looking confused as hell. What?  
  
“What the hell are you even saying? Is complimenting a girl’s nails some kinda pick up line?”  
  
“Dude, it’s the interest in what they like, and the winking, and the smiling. It’s really flirtacious man. Girls think you care about them, because you act like you give a shit.”  
  
“I DO give a shit.” Kenny slammed his locker, just as the bell rang. Clyde paled.  
  
“Shiiit. I’m supposed to be at the other end of the building. I’m gonna be late. Dude, we’ll talk more later.”  
  
“Godspeed.” Kenny called. His class was...English Literature. Another potentially easy pass. It was basically Media Studies, but with books. And as he stepped into the class, he noted people he recognised, but didn’t really..hang around with.  
  
Tweek sat in one of the rows, trembling slightly. Next to him, Pip sat, talking quietly to him. The conversation in the room buzzed, so he was unable to pick up what they were saying. Not that he really cared enough to want to know.  
  
Kyle was in this class, but he and Kenny barely interacted these days. That direction was a nope.  
  
In the end, he settled for a seat to the far left of the room. It was closer to the front than he liked, but he reasoned that if a teacher focused on the centre of a class, he probably wouldn’t be called upon.  
  
He claimed his seat with a bag thrown on desk flourish. The bag looked so..’lieable’. And he shouldn’t be tired third class in, but it was first day after all. All their teacher was gonna do was go over what they’d cover for the semester anyway. It was gonna be boring.  
  
Eventually, the class quieted down, as an older woman entered the room. Almost immediately, he zoned out as she bagan to speak. And he gave up, laying his head on his bag. It wasn’t as comfy as he’d imagined, but it’d do.  
  
Was Clyde right? Was Red...into him? Was that why she’d sat next to him? Why she’d wanted to talk and hang out?  
  
How the hell was he even supposed to feel about that?  
  
They were friends, right? Unless they weren’t, and he hadn’t realised it? Maybe he was into Red, and he just hadn’t gotten the memo. He supposed it was possible, right?  
  
It wasn’t like porn. Porn was...different. Porn lied. In fact, he was sorely tempted to bring porn into his romance essay.  
  
_Pretty Woman, and Slut Gagging for Cock are essentially the same in their demonstration of romance. Both offer an unrealistic representation, a fantasy, for an intended purpose. One was for idealists to hope to have one day, the other was a conditioning method that would forever set the bar of sex at an unrealistic level. Porn however, has one advantage over Pretty Woman._ _  
__  
__Porn at least, has a happy ending._ _  
__  
_ Kenny grinned into his bag. He’d be sent to the principal’s office so fast if he actually wrote that. No matter how truthful it was.  
  
“Kenny McCormick? Is there a Kenny here?”  
  
Oh shit. Register already? That was quick.  
  
He looked up, lifting his head.  
  
“He-”  
  
Kenny blinked. And blinked again.  
  
That wasn’t the older woman who had walked in. This...was someone entirely different. This person, this guy, looked around the room, green eyes searching the room.  
  
Oh.  
  
Wait  
  
He hadn’t actually confirmed.  
  
He opened his mouth to answer. But nothing came out.  
  
What the hell was wrong with him right now?  
  
The dark haired teacher gave a look to the room.  
  
“Last call. Is Kenny here?” The tone was…  
  
Fuck, he needed to SAY something!  
  
“Here. I’m here.” He eventually managed to call. Causing the green eyes to zone in on him. Shit.  
  
He couldn’t fucking look away even if he wanted to.  
  
And the teacher surveyed him for a moment, silently. And eventually, looked back to the register, releasing Kenny.  
  
But Kenny continued to look at their teacher, his usual apathy nonexistent.  
  
This teacher...looked pretty young. And Kenny had been at this school for a long time. He’d never ever seen a teacher that looked anything like this.  
  
Who was he?  
  
And why the hell had seeing him momentarily caused him to lose functionality of his vocal cords?  
  
So what? He was just a teacher.  
  
He didn’t look like a teacher. No fucking way in hell. This guy was dressed in jeans, and a plaid shirt. He dressed like he wasn’t a damn teacher.  
  
What was someone who couldn’t be a teacher doing pretending to be their teacher.  
  
...He couldn’t be their teacher, right?  
  
He didn’t know why the idea that he couldn’t be a teacher made him feel so much better. That there was disaster in the idea that this person would be their very much adult, very much grown up TEACHER.  
  
Why was this such a hard concept for his brain to acknowledge. Of course he was their damn teacher. Why would some random person be taking the register?  
  
And this...person..teacher..maybe..no definitely teacher had finished roll call, and was speaking to the class.  
  
And Kenny would love to hear what he was saying, but all he could hear was his pulse thundering through his ears.  
  
He felt sick.  
  
And he opened his mouth to ask to be excused, but again, no sound.  
  
Fuck. He needed to leave this room before….he just needed to leave this room right now.  
  
And he stood up, moving quickly, all but running for the door. And maybe someone had called his name, he honestly couldn’t tell.  
  
And it was only once the door had closed and he was in the hallway, that he felt he could breathe. And he knelt on the floor, balancing on his feet as he tried to get a fucking grasp on the situation.  
  
And he would have been absolutely fine.  
  
If the door to the classroom hadn’t opened and closed.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
Well, at least being tongue-tied had one advantage. He couldn’t say anything stupid.  
  
He simply nodded, looking up, meaning to apologise.  
  
And he just stared.  
  
“You look pretty flushed. You feeling sick?”  
  
The words were blunt and not minced, but the tone was concerned. He shook his head.  
  
He absolutely felt sick, but not in the normal way. And he’d made an utter fool out of himself, the thought doing absolutely nothing to help his flush. Goddammit, this was embarrassing, he needed to try and style this out.  
  
“I-”  
  
Did his voice just fucking squeak? Seriously, what was _wrong_ with him?  
  
He cleared his throat.  
  
“I’m fine sir. Sorry for that. I’ll head back in.”  
  
The teacher seemed..unconvinced, but nodded.  
  
And as Kenny stepped back in, holding the door for their teacher, he felt like eyes were on him. That they knew something he didn’t.  
  
_It’s fine. It’s just paranoia, it’s fine. You made a bit of an ass of yourself, and a few kids probably found that hilarious._  
  
And Kenny made it to his seat with as much dignity as he could muster considering the circumstances. And he hid his face in the safety of his bag once again.  
  
This was going to be a long class.  
  
“Hey. I’m Mr Tucker. I’ll be your teacher for English Lit. Kind of new here, so getting used to things. In terms of curriculum for the year, we’ll be focusing on several key areas. There will be a Shakepearan module, text to be decided, a poetry module, in which we’ll look at the works of William Blake, and the comparison between his words of Innocence and Experience. The final module will be on a piece of Literature, which we will focus on for the brunt of the year. Text books will be provided, and I’ll need you to read through it before we begin analysing it in class.”  
  
As Kenny had predicted, the first class covered what they’d be focusing on. As Kenny had not predicted, he’d gone weird, and made an ass of himself.  
  
He missed twenty minutes ago, when his only problem had been Red being weird, and his dumb romance essay.  
  
He wished he were back in Media Studies, watching that awful film. Rather than sitting here trying to not look at his teacher, trying to ignore the thumping in his ears, his gross, clammy hands, and this feeling of constant and unended embarassment, like he was being watched. Despite the assurance that looking around, and to the front, no one was.  
  
_Romance...is an easy get out clause to having to actually deal with real life. Romance essays are there to be thought about, to distract from the reality of a situation. Romance was…_ _  
__  
__Romance was not having a crush._ _  
__  
__Romance was not having a crush on your teacher._ _  
__  
__Romance was not Red, because Romance was a little more complicated and uncharted in territory than this writer had ever realised._  
  
Also, why the hell was Spandau Ballet's 'True' now playing over and over in his head?  
  
He hoped it was just in his head and no one else heard it.

A bizarre fear, but he wasn't taking any chances with the weird day he'd had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt summary: Craig is a teacher, Kenny is a student, and Kenny ends up having a huge crush on his teacher.
> 
> ***
> 
> Why Spandau Ballet's True? I always considered it a 'coming of age'/first romance kinda song. 
> 
> Plus I always found it hilarious in the TV series that when people fell for someone, they could hear music, and others could hear it if they left their ears uncovered. The imagery that Kenny hears this in his head when crushing for the first time kills me. 😂


	3. When Will He Recognise Him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 3. Summary of chapter, as always will be at the end (to avoid spoilers). This was requested as a prompt by suspicious-stitches (Tumblr). I hope it is a good read ♥️
> 
> As always lovely people, let me know your thoughts!

* * *

##  **WHEN WILL HE RECOGNISE HIM?  
  
**

* * *

_Story Song: Koan - When Will She Recognise Him?  
  
_

* * *

  
  
  


The building was...well, it was utterly shit was what it was. And Bebe honestly wouldn’t be here, were there not the most tantalising rumour abound here. This place had grown in great popularity ever since the disappearance after a night spent here.  
  
Whitterby Hill. Currently trending like crazy on Twitter.  
  
  
  
And Bebe sat in her car, fingernails tapping on the screen as she posted her status.  
  
  
  
 **BebeWhereDidOurLoveGo?**  
  
 _“About to see if all the rumours are true. Maybe the ghost is friendly. I’ll see you in the morning_ _😱_ _👻”_  
#WhitterbyHillGhost #DisappearanceAtWhitterby #SpendANightAtWhitterbyHill  
  
  
  
She looked up at the decrepit...mess. She’d done her research. It had an...interesting history. Rumors of a 19th century family, their son supposedly having murdered his betrothed, that she could still be buried here, under the floorboards.  
  
Her followers would eat this up.  
  
  
She was a well known influence. Instagram, Twitter. She posted her life regularly, and people loved her. They loved her gym images, her healthy eating posts. She was a trend follower. Whenever something big occurred, she was there, ready to milk that popularity. And this time would be no different. She would stay at the...well, it was more mansion than house. And as she stepped out, she noted the straggles of police line tape still fluttering from the surrounding trees.  
  
  
When a person had gone missing after spending a night here a few months ago, the media, the police, they had both swarmed the area. They had found nothing. Just...oddness. The house was empty, but had signs of life within it, which was eventually chalked up to squatters. They had found no one, including the missing person.  
  
  
They had exhumed the entire graveyard attached to the house. And although gravestones had stood there, they had found no bodies. Rows and rows of empty graves.  
  
  
  
Eventually, the police had lost interest. The media that was the internet however, eventually revived the craze. It became a meme of sorts. That you didn’t go to Whitterby Hill. Tired, overworked office workers used the meme to show a preference to staying at the cursed house rather than an all nighter. The fear around the place was replaced with the internet’s version of a joke.  
  
  
And that was why she was here. Just to stay for a night. And she would update her feed during the night, as proof, with images of the place. And when she came out in the morning, she would be on top of trending.  
At least, that’s what she told herself as she carefully picked her way across the front drive to the iron gate, a large, rusted T on the front of it. The police had obviously locked it, but there was a small section of the railings that looked potential for slipping through, so that was her aim.  
  
  
The grass was springy, and her heels stuck into the soft, waterlogged ground as she struggled her way over to the section. And her persistence was rewarded, as the railing bar gave feeble resistance, before slipping from it’s hold. Lucky her.  
  
  
  
And with that, and some cursing, she was in. The area was...quiet, the area seeming...flat and void. Like a place taken out of real life, and placed into silence. No birds, no rustles. The air was still. The...graveyard, the one they had exhumed, and put back together, sat three, eerie in the daylight. The rows of graveyards, just as the pictures online had shown. Bebe shivered slightly, and then shook her head. The atmosphere was really doing a number on her. And she stood in front of the house, positioning herself for a selfie, with the house as background. She struggled to get it in, due to the size, so she had to angle and step and move until both she and the house were there.  
  
  
Once satisfied with the shot, she posted it, asking her fans to wish her luck. And she put her phone away once more, looking at the house. It didn’t seem...too bad. It was just a house after all.  
  
  
And as expected, the front door was locked. She gave it a rattle, but it stayed fastened. Ugh. There must be a way. She glanced at the windows. Boarded up from the looks of things.  
  
  
  
She walked the printer of the house, avoiding the section that connected with the graveyard until the very end, when she eventually gritted her teeth and stepped in.  
Almost immediately, she felt like there was...life here, a warmth and a safety. A few birds pecked for worms, the wind seemed to trail fingers across blades of grass. It felt safer in here, for the oddest reason. Time seemed to move in here. Seemed to pass as normal.  
She scoffed, she was being stupid. She tapped her fingernail gently on one of the blank gravestones.  
“I’m being daft. This isn’t even technically a graveyard. And why would a _graveyard_ of all things feel safe?”  
  
  
The birds looked up at the tapping, but didn’t offer a reply to her question. And the gravestone sat silent. She’d get no answers.  
  
  
She noticed an etching.  
  
  
  
 _I wish we could be free._ _  
_ _  
  
  
  
_It was out of the way, and clearly not professionally carved. And she wondered how many people came to the graveyard for the simple fun of graffitiing gravestones.  
  
  
Tutting and shaking her head, she picked her way through the graves, regretting that the movement disturbed the birds, but accepting that it had been a likelihood from the very beginning.  
And eventually, she spied one of the boards over one of the windows that was rotten. With a good heave, she was able to remove it, the crack and splinter causing the lone bird that had bravely remained, to fly off. And as she tore it off, she was able to get a glimpse inside.  
  
The smell of mould, dry rot, damp and dust was the biggest initial sensation, followed by the disturbance of dust. The ground floor seemed so quiet, and for a moment, she felt that...maybe this wasn’t right. Maybe she should let ghosts lie.  
  
And then her phone buzzed.  
  
  
 **DonovansVans** **  
** _You’re so brave! I’d be scared out of my mind going there. Come back safe. Your fans demand it! <3  
  
_ _  
_ _  
_And she laughed, and the spell of conscience was broken. She needed to do this for her fans. So, with that in mind, she put a leg through the doorway, and the rest of her body followed through.  
  
Instantly, the inside of the house felt...different. Not as it had on the outside, or as it had in the graveyard. This was...sad.  
  
Could houses feel sadness? Because this one felt cold, mournful, but...resigned. Again, she shook her head at her silliness. It was a _house._  
  
The silence was oppressive.  
  
Easily solved.  
  
  
  
She fished in her pocket, pulling out her ear phones, and the moment her music kicked in, she found herself slowly forgetting the vibe of the house, as she set to exploring. And so, she spent a relatively easy day, singing “Walking on sunshine” out loud, as she wandered through the hallways, the rooms, the kitchen, up the stairs. The place was...so big. Easy to get lost, as she’d found out a couple of times.  
  
She’s eyed up the door that she’d opened, with stairs leading downwards, but she drew the line at cellars. She was not going down there.  
  
And she found that a lot of the house required the use of her phone flashlight. Good thing she’d brought a battery pack. Even if it was for just a night. She’d been relatively sensible. Food, sleeping bag, swiss army knife, coffee, even candles and matches (mostly for atmosphere). Maybe it was overkill, but better to be over prepared in her opinion.  
  
And it was getting...stupidly dark. She decided the best bet was to find a room, bar it and stay the night. She’d take some photos, keep posting, try and stay up (because she was brave, but there was no way she’d be sleeping)  
  
And that had been her plan when she decided her destination was the room upstairs. She wanted to be as far from the cellar as possible, and the upstairs window in one of the bedrooms wasn’t boarded up, so she could get out, even if the drop would hurt (and overlooked the graveyard unfortunately).  
  
  
  
At least, that had been her plan. Except that this time, when she entered the room, earphones in, her heart jumped into her throat when she saw a person there, sitting on the window ledge, looking out.  
  
And she readied herself to run, until she got a closer look.  
  
It was just a boy. Around her age she’d guess, but she was bad with ages. He wore a dark, clearly well worn hoodie, and his trainers were clearly in no better condition. And as she took a step back, the floorboard creaked, and he turned to look at her.

  
  
Wow. He was...pretty damn...good looking.  
  
  
“...I...” She eventually managed, having calmed her heart from the fright.  
  
He surveyed her for a moment, blue eyes narrowing...and then turned to look back out the window.  
  
“Hi?” she spoke uncertainly, surprised at the abrupt dismissal.  
  
He didn’t reply. She huffed a little bit.  
  
“Hey!” She spoke, a little huffily. He turned back to look at her, raising a dark eyebrow.  
  
“Can you...talk?”  
  
  
He rolled his eyes.  
  
“Duh.”  
  
The tone was deep, and gravelly, as if he didn’t use his vocal cords much.  
  
“No need to be rude. I was just asking.”  
He shrugged, looking out at the window. She felt brave, so stepped closer.  
  
“Is...there something in the graveyard? Something interesting?”  
  
  
“Always.” Was his reply.  
  
“Okay well. I don’t know if you’re a squatter or just a thrill seeker like me, but..I kinda wanna stay in this room tonight.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Um...can you...leave then?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
This guy was impossible!  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“I got here first. And you need to leave.”  
  
“I’m not leaving.”  
  
“You’ll regret it if you don’t.”  
  
She puffed up at that in indignation.  
  
“Are you threatening me?”  
  
He looked at her again.  
  
“No. I’m not the one you should be worried about. Leave, while you still have time. Please don’t make me have to babysit you.”  
  
What the hell was wrong with this boy?  
  
“Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but-”

  
  
  
She was interrupted by an expected sound.  
  
  
A bell.  
  
A bell ringing.  
  
  
  
And the boy looked at her, and she was taken aback.

  
  
He looked afraid.  
  
  
“No. He’s here early.” He whispered.  
  
  
  
And a rustling noise from the direction of the stairs began. And he glanced from her to the door.  
  
  
“Get in and shut the door. Quickly.” he ordered. And she quickly complied, sensing the..severity of the situation. The boy’s face was now like stone, previous fear gone.  
  
  
“Move.”  
  
  
She jumped back at the voice right next to her, as the boy put his hand on the door.  
  
  
“Did you have to do that?” She asked him crossly.  
  
“I’m gonna need you to listen _very_ carefully. If you don’t, you will die. See that wardrobe over there? Get in it, and stay silent.”  
  
Was this a trick? Was he going to lock her in?  
  
Eyes glanced from the door to her, and to the wardrobe.  
  
“Go! There isn’t that much time!”  
  
And maybe it was the way that his face had become one of panic, or the fact that the shuffling outside had become louder, that made her dart for the monstrous wardrobe. And she threw herself in, and shut the door.  
  
And she was sure she heard him hiss one thing.   
  


“He can’t see you. Ignore him. No matter what he says.”  
  
  
She didn’t have time to ask if she meant to speak to her, or himself, as she heard the bedroom door bang open.  
  
Then silence for a moment. And she stood there, in the moth, musty wardrobe, her imagination feeding images of what else could be in here with her.  
  
  
  
 _Are you scared of the dark?_ _  
__  
__Don’t be afraid, I can make it light._ _  
__  
__Why are you down here?_ _  
__  
__Are you scared of the dark?  
  
_ _  
__  
_She blinked. She could...hear something. Talking to her.  
  
A laugh, and then the shuffling was in the room.  
  
  
  
 _Trust me, you’ll find what you’re looking for in there._ _  
__  
__Don’t be afraid.  
_ _  
__  
_And she placed her hands on her head, wanting to lock the voice out.  
  
  
  
 _I can make it light. Are you scared...of the dark?_ _  
__  
__  
_She trembled in the wardrobe, wanting to step out of it. If she did, the voices would stop.  
  
 _  
__  
_“You’re back.”  
  
  
The real tone of the boy doused her panicked mind. And she found herself coming back to reality.  
  
  
 _I am  
_ _  
__  
_Shuffling sounds.  
  
  
 _I thought I heard you...talking  
_ _  
__  
_“I get bored at nights.”  
  
  
Laughter. Laughter that clawed Bebe’s spine from her body and ran fingers along each groove.

  
  
  
No, that was the image, that wasn’t real.  
  
 _Am I boring you with our..game?  
_ _  
__  
_“You’re here to search. That was the deal. So search.”

  
  
 _I will find. And then the game will be over.  
_ _  
__  
_“We’ll see.”  
  
 _Should I start in this room? Under the bed? Perhaps fingernails hidden in the skirting board? Blond h_ _air embroidered into the...curtains? Teeth under the pillow? Perhaps...skin hung up in the...wardrobe?  
_ _  
__  
_“Stop it!” The boy snapped _._ Laughter that pulled Bebe’s hair from its roots.  
  
  
 _I will...begin my search. I have...a good feeling about the cellar tonight.  
  
_ _  
__  
_“Go ahead”  
  
  
And the shuffling continued, swishing, and then lessening, fading into nothing. A click of a door. Bebe sat there, in silence, not even daring to breathe for a moment.  
  
  
“You can come out. He...it’s gone.”  
  
  
She didn’t react.  
  
A sigh.   
  


“Girl. It’s gone. Stop hiding in the wardrobe.”  
  
  
Tentatively, she pushed the wardrobe door. The boy stood there, looking unimpressed, his dark hair blocking his eyes until he impatient pushed it aside.  
  
He moved closer to her, and she flinched.  
  
  
“I don’t know why you came here, but if you want to leave here alive, you’ll do as I say.”  
  
“Wh...what was that?”  
  
He waved a hand dismissively.  
  
“That thing isn’t gone. It’s still in the house.”  
  
“W..what?”  
  
“It will be here a while. And I’ve had this conversation too many times, so please, be one of the people who listen.”  
  
“What do you mean-”  
  
  
“-Questions later. I need to listen. But first I need to explain. That thing. It will wander the house...searching. Once it’s done with the cellar, we’ll need to go down there.”  
  
“I’m not going down there! Not with that thing!”  
  
“It won’t be down there all night. That’s why we have to go once it’s gone. It won’t go back there once it’s searched there. But you’ll have to go alone. It...always knows where I am. Once it’s gone, I’ll come find you.”  
  
  
Bebe shook her head violently. She wasn’t going down into a cellar by herself, in a place where that...thing had been.  
  
He moved close to her, forcing her to back against the wardrobe.  
  
“I’m not fucking kidding about this. You either do what I say, or you die. Those are your options.”  
  
“That’s not true.” And she pushed past him, moving to the window.”  
  
  
“Don’t!” He was there, grabbing her wrist, just as she reached to put a hand on the window sill.  
  
“Take your hand off me!”  
  
“Fucking shh! And you can’t go out the window.”  
  
“Why not?” She demanded.  
  
“If you put anything through the window, including yourself. IT will know, and it will be up those stairs and where you are before you can even blink. Trust me. I’ve...seen it.”  
  
  
Bebe teared up at the words. He could be talking crap. But if he wasn’t…  
  
“W..what do I do?”  
  
He seemed to react to her distress, as his harsh expression softened slightly.  
  
“If you do as I say, you’ll survive. I don’t want you to die either. And afterwards, I’ll come and find you. I promise.”  
  
“Why should I trust you? You could be using me as a distraction so you can escape.”  
  
“It’s not after me. Trust me.”  
  
“You keep saying ‘trust me’ and ‘I promise’. You’re a STRANGER, why should I believe you?”  
  
“You have no-” and he stopped, paused, moved to the bedroom door, listened.  
  
Silence. Only breathing.  
  
  
  
“Okay....you have about two minutes to sneak down the stairs. The cellar door is around the staircase, to the left. Open the door quietly. You have to do this both quickly and quietly. It’s downstairs at the moment, but you need to go before it comes back up the stairs. Once you’re in the cellar, you’ll be safe until it’s gone. And I’ll come and find you.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“You don’t have time to argue. Make a choice. Do as I’ve instructed, or it’ll find you. Your choice.”  
  
And as she looked at him, and to the door and back again, she found herself paralysed with indecision.  
  
“Go. Please.”  
  
“I...can’t decide.” She whimpered.  
  
“Just go. It’s safe there.”  
  
And she took a moment more to hesitate.  
  
“It has to be now.”  
  
  
  
And she opened the bedroom door. And could hear the shuffling on the floor below her. She looked back at the dark haired boy, who nodded.  
  
And she took a shaky step, and another. It sounded as if every single step echoed, but nothing. And she found herself on the ground floor. The shuffling was close, but she was also close to the cellar.  
  
And she was almost there.  
  
  
  
And her phone sounded an alert.  
  
  
  
The shuffling paused.  
  
She held her breath  
  
And her phone chimed again.   
  
"No..." she whispered.   
  
And the shuffling sped closer, and closer. She screamed, she ran for the cellar.   
  
  
  
ARE YOU SCARED OF THE DARK?  
  
  
  
I CAN MAKE IT LIGHT  
  
  
  
 _I SEE YOU!!_ _  
__  
__  
_

* * *

_  
__  
_It was midnight when Craig stepped down the stairs. He had heard the screams, the popping sound of bones and sinew. He'd been forced to once again, listen to the sounds made, for what seemed like hours. And then he had laughed, and left.  
  
And Craig bitterly wished, not for the first time, that he could’ve done more.  
  
  
He couldn’t have gone with her. _He_ always knew where he was when he visited. He would’ve suspected him of foul play.   
  
  
_He_ was gone. And the girl, what remained of her was in a mangled mess on the floor. And as he approached her, too used to the sight of the macabre to even flinch away, his foot kicked something metallic and square.  
  
  
Her phone.  
  
  
  
He leaned down, and with a tired sigh picked it up. A notification sat on the phone.  
  
  
 **DonovansVans** **  
**_You still alive there Bebe? Sending you all my love and protection.  
  
  
 **DonovansVans**  
Seriously..stay safe, yeah?  
_ _  
__  
_Craig felt the irony like a lump in his throat.  
  
He glanced at the shivering, now ghostly form of the girl, knelt on the floor, clutching her knees, head buried between them. Sitting by her body.  
  
  
  
He knelt down.  
  
  
  
“..Hey.” He spoke softly.  
  
She looked up at him, pearlescent tears falling down translucent cheeks. She looked..normal. Which didn’t make sense. _He_ always took something.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
She opened her mouth. And that was when he saw it. A stump where her tongue had been. He glanced to the mangled body. The tongue was missing.  
  
She closed her mouth, silent, unable to speak.  
  
“I’m sorry. Sorry I couldn’t do more.” he handed her the phone. And she reached for it and took it, looking at it for a moment. He held out a hand and she looked at it, at him, and then placed her own in his.  
  
And he led her outside, to the graveyard.  
  
Craig didn’t like talking. But he felt as if he owed it to her. To all of them.  
  
  
To him.  
  
  
  
She looked around as they walked through the graveyard. Now she was dead, she could see them. The other ghosts. The other victims. They, upon seeing them, and knowing the situation, seemed to band around them, as if shielding them from a danger that had long since passed.  
  
And eventually, he stopped. And sat on the grass, leaning against one of the graves.  
  
  
  
  
_  
_“....You wanna hear a story?”  
  
She looked at him confused.  
  
"It's just something a heard once."  
  
  
She looked to him, and eventually, crouched on the floor, making herself comfortable.  
  
  
  
“There was once a family that lived here. Rich, powerful. But cold. The father, a widower, had arranged for his only son to be married to the child of a rival family, to cement their businesses.”  
  
  
“But the son had someone he loved, and who loved him. And he and his father raged and argued, and the son swore he’d leave, run away with his loved one. He refused to submit, and he publicly embarrassed the child and the child’s family by doing so, who walked away from the agreement.”  
  
  
“The father was angry at the sabotage his son had brought, and cruel, and vowed that his son would see his wrath. His son scoffed, for what could his father truly do? But what the son didn’t know, was that his father was a practitioner of the dark arts, and had sworn his family name to a devil most cunning and grievous. And the father bided his time, played kindness in his actions, but hatred in his heart. And one night, under false kindness, he lured the lover of his son to the house for his blessing, and it was then he enacted a cruel pact with the devil; that the two not be allowed to be together. And that their suffering never be undone.”  
  
“What his father had failed to realise was that wording was important to a devil, and would be taken most literally. And the devil took ‘their suffering’, as the meaning being of suffering upon the entire family. And he transformed that father into a creature vile and hideous, and lured that lover down into the cellar with words of comfort, promises of light against the dark. And the poor victim went, and the father, no longer in control of his senses, was waiting, and tore the lover apart most soundly, into all manner of parts.”  
  
“And the son, upon discovering this, was filled with an anger and sorrow that couldn’t be quenched or lightened. And in his foolishness, he begged that same devil to return his loved one to him, to give them a chance to be free and together. And the devil, his look sly, asked the son.  
  
 _"...What will you give me? What price are you willing to pay? Will you give me your soul? To save his? Will you take his place? Would you pledge to never be with him again if I so desired, no matter the lives you relived?"_ _  
__  
__  
__“_ And the son was silent for a moment. The devil spoke up once again.”

_"If you give me that, I will free him."_  
  
 _“Will I...be allowed to say goodbye?”_  
  
 _“Once done, he will never see you again. But he will be alive, and well.”_  
  
“And the son spoke up again.”  
  
 _“....Okay. Do it.”_ _  
_  
And the father, amongst his now twisted mind, argued that this would go against the deal he made with the devil.”  
  
“And the devil mockingly mulled over this. And declared that a game was to be had. That father and son would bet their souls, and that the loser would forfeit theirs. For the devil knew he was coming out of this with a soul.”  
  
“The game players: the father and the son. The pieces? Well, there was poetic nature to the pieces of the lover being used. And so the demon told them. The son would have to search for the pieces of his lover. He would have to hide them from the father. And every night, the father would search, looking for any slight piece. Teeth, bone, nails. If the father found all the pieces before midnight, his son’s soul would be the devil’s.”  
  
  
“If however, the son could hide the pieces, and put his lover back together, the devil would return the lover to life, and would collect the father’s soul as his own.  
The deal was struck. And the boy, as the deal was made, found that he would no longer age, and the days turned into weeks into months into years of this cruel nightly game.”  
  
  
  
  
And Craig leaned his head back against the headstone as he told the tale. It wasn't the first time he’d told it.   
  
And when he looked over at the ghost girl, she looked at him, as if wanting to ask a question, but not being able to. She bit her lip, and then brightened. She tapped on the phone he’d given her. It buzzed, making strange sounds as she did so. Technology didn’t tend to like ghosts. 

"WHa!@t hap£pe*ned t_o th^^e S+on?" He read. It took him a moment to recognise what she had attempted to write.  
  
"Supposedly, he waits, he doesn't age or change, he remains in love, years and years and years pass. And the devil is cruel. His lover's spirit wanders the graveyard, and the son can see him, watches him, but his lover can never, ever see him in return. No matter how much he tries to get his attention. He just walks idly through the graveyard.”  
  


“H}0w lo6ng w1ll h3 d.o th£s?”  
  


"....Always."  
  


She looked at him steadily. He shrugged. 

  
"At least, that's what I heard."  
  


She was looking at the ghosts, at him.

  
  
  
“Wh5e2re d£i#d yo§u8 he)ar t44his?”  
  
  
He paused.  
  
  
“It’s just a dumb story I heard. This place is full of ghost stories. And ghosts apparently.”

  
  
He stood.  
  
  
“The graveyard will be safe. That..thing won’t come for you. He'll protect you. And there are others like you here.” Craig rubbed his thumb against the top of the gravestone, along the familiar grooves. And she noted the same inscription she’d read before when she’d passed through here.  
  
“I’m...sorry I couldn’t help more.”  
  
She paused, looked at him, at the ghosts, and the house.  
  
“W@ho ar(e yo~$u?”  
  
“....Just a guy without a home or family. Easy place to stay, you know? You’ll probably see me around.”  
  
And he removed his thumb from the top of the gravestone, the marking visible once more.  
  
“I’ll come visit.”  
  
And later, as she sat there, she looked up at a movement.  
  


He was sat there, at the window, just looking out over the graveyard.  
  


Like he had been when she’d first arrived.  
  


She glanced at the inscription.

  
  
  
_I wish we could be free.  
  
  
_

And she remembered something just then. A conversation they'd had when first meeting.

  
_“Is...there something in the graveyard? Something interesting?”_   
  
  
_“Always.”_

The life and...warmth of the graveyard in comparison to everywhere else.

_"His lover's spirit wanders the graveyard, and the son can see him, watches him, but his lover can never, ever see him in return. No matter how much he tries to get his attention."_

_"The graveyard will be safe. That..thing won’t come for you. He'll protect you."_

And the conversation just then.

_“H}0w lo6ng w1ll h3 d.o th£s?”_

_"....Always."_

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt summary: What would Craig do for Kenny? Would he go to the ends of the world? Would he give up everything he has? Would he go to the brink of life and death? No price is too great. No atrocity beyond his reach. For Him... he will do anything. 
> 
> Kenny dies permanently and Craig will do anything to get him back.
> 
> ***
> 
> Fun fact. This kinda broke my heart a little to write.


	4. Lucid Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 4. Summary of chapter, as always will be at the end (to avoid spoilers). This was requested as a prompt by Anonymous (Tumblr). I hope it is a good read ♥️
> 
> I've been trying to do these prompts in order of when I get them (I don't always, but I try), but I got this prompt and immediately felt the scene write itself out in my head XD. 
> 
> As always lovely people, let me know your thoughts!

* * *

  
  


##  **LUCID DREAM  
  
**

* * *

_  
  
__Story Song: Owl City - Lucid Dream_ _  
__Song (Stripe’s): Owl City - Fireflies_ _  
__Song (Kenny’s): Owl City - Vanilla Twilight_ _  
__Song (Craig’s): Owl City - Super Honeymoon_ _  
  
_

* * *

_  
"I am a light sleeper, but I am a heavy dreamer...."  
  
"Do you believe, life is a lucid dream? Well that's how you study the stars."_   
  
  


* * *

  
  
He’s clearly had too much coffee. it wasn't really his fault. He had an essay due. True, he could have started it a lot sooner but he wasn't that type of person.

He lay on his bed, eyes drifting from the ceiling to his wall wondering how he was going to deal with the essay that still sat on his computer. Honestly he hated writing essays. This seemed like such a waste of time. What did they prove? All they proved is that he could read books; he could write notes down and could then quote said books. The idea was ridiculous if he really thought about it.  
  
But unfortunately he didn't run the College he was at. No, there were bigwigs that dictated whether he would pass or fail. His gaze drifted over to his laptop where the blinking cursor on the document he had yet to start was flashing. He had until 3:15 tomorrow morning to deliver this essay but at this time of night he didn’t give a damn.  
  
Unfortunately he was at a stage where he couldn't really relax because he’d stupidly consumed too much coffee, but he was also at a stage where he was too tired to be productive.  
He’d tried video games, but couldn't distract himself, because he kept remembering the essay that was due.

  
He’d not been the most sensible student, he’d be the first to admit that, but he’d tried. He felt as if other students weren’t...struggling to the same extent. And it was a shame. He was a natural when it came to more practical tasks. He could present just fine, and his stage performances during group assignments were graded well.  
  
It was the essays that killed him. Because if he was frank, he didn’t actually give a damn about Brecht. He liked theatre because it offered escapism. It let you play different roles, watch characters interact, see a story unfold.  
All this old ‘practitioner’ cared about was the message being sent. And it was very difficult to write an essay on how ‘Brecht revolutionised Theatre and the contemporary messages it gives', when he didn't actually think it was a good thing.  
  
Ugh, he wanted to sleep. Fuck this essay…….  
  
  
.....  
  
.....  
  
.....  
  
  
 **Eventually, he realised he’d drifted off when he recognised that he was flying. In space.** **  
****  
****And that was weird, right? But he didn’t question it too much. It made perfect sense at the moment. In fact, what wasn’t sensical about it? Just like that essay that floated past. Oh shit, that was his finished essay. He’d printed it on the back of a giraffe for safekeeping, but he did need to submit it.** **  
****  
****So, he did what was sensible. He flew after it. It was incredibly fast though, and somehow, he felt like the view had changed. Like...he felt like a videogame character chasing this giraffe, with his essay written on its back, suddenly trying to dodge incoming asteroids. And one hit him, turning to jam, which stuck on his clothes and hair. Luckily, he couldn’t look at himself, so it didn’t matter.** **  
****  
****What did matter was that the giraffe was getting away. If only he was a little faster, like light-speed.** **  
****  
****And just like that, the stars blurred past him as he all but shot past them in the blink of an eye. And he couldn’t remember why he’d needed to be so fast, but this felt great!** **  
****  
****And it suddenly made perfect sense that he would be sitting on a floating guinea pig, eating what looked to be a pot noodle. And he was content with this.  
** **  
****  
****“What are you eating?”  
** **  
****  
****He looked around. There was a person on the guinea pig with him, who from the looks of things, seemed to be feeding the guinea pig giant candy stars. Every time the guinea pig ate one, it’s eyes would sparkle like stars, and he found the look adorable, and mesmerising.** **  
****  
****“I want one of those.” he commented as he took a mouthful of noodles. He then looked down, and at the person. The person was...blurry, but he could make out colours, like with impressionist paintings. If he stood far away, he thought he might see what this person looked like. For now, it was a block of black, and two pinpricks of green, and a whole bundle of blue. Which was kinda weird. The guinea pig was super high definition, and cute as hell. But it didn’t matter too much, as the noodles in his pot noodle were gummy worms now. The bubblegum flavour. He loved those.** **  
****  
****He, looking at this mix of colours that was a person, gestured with the pot in offerment. The person shook their head, but held out his hand.** **  
****In it, there were smaller star candies.  
** **  
****“You can’t have the big ones. Those are for flying guinea pigs. These are human ones.”  
** **  
****“Oh, okay, that makes sense” And he looked down at these cute little candies. They were light pink, and light blue, and glow in the dark green. How was he supposed to choose?  
** **  
****He held his hand above the other’s in indecision. And he heard a small laugh.** **  
****  
****“You can have one of each. Save the ones you don’t want now.”** **  
****  
****He all but beamed at the words, and carefully picked out one of each colour.** **  
****  
****“Do they taste different?”** **  
****  
****“Yeah. The pink ones are like...hug flavoured. Blue tastes like falling through the sky. But my favourite ones are the green ones.”** **  
****  
****“What do they taste like?”** **  
****  
****“Stars.”** **  
****  
****He laughed.** **  
****  
****“But...they’re all stars!” and he held them up in illustration. The hazy coloured person shook their head. It was weird that he couldn’t see the features, the details, but knew their expressions and movements.** **  
****  
****“They all look like stars. But the green ones actually taste like stars. And they make your eyes sparkle.”** **  
****  
****“Really?”** **  
****  
****He wanted his eyes to sparkle like that.**

 **  
****“If I eat one, will you take a photo of my eyes when they sparkle? I wanna see it.”** **  
****  
****The person nodded.** **  
****  
****“Sure.” And they reached out to pet the giant guinea pig behind its ears. The guinea pig wheeked, and a camera appeared.** **  
****  
****“You wanna do it now?”** **  
****  
****“Sure.” And he slowly picked up the green candy, before popping it in his mouth.** **  
****  
****And suddenly, he felt like he was a firework, that it would make perfect sense to explode into colour and light. Should he do that?** **  
****  
****“Easy...you look like you’re about to explode with happiness.”** **  
****  
****“Did you get the photo?” Although he wasn’t sure he needed it, it was obvious to him that his eyes were stars now, right?** **  
****  
****“I got it. Here” and he was handed a small bubble. And he could see himself in the bubble photo. And his eyes were like the guinea pig’s. They were like stars.** **  
****  
****“This is so cool…” he murmured. He looked to his new friend.**

 **  
****“I’m gonna keep this forever. Thank you. You’re a really great photographer!” And he hugged the person, far too warmly, and nuzzled his face against the person’s.** **  
****  
****“You’re really nice to hug. I’m gonna save the pink star candy for later, so I can feel this again, okay?”** **  
****  
****And he watched as the mass of colours turned pink all over.** **  
****  
****“Thanks. You’re...a really good hugger...better than the candy.”** **  
****  
****He laughed, pulling the person closer.** **  
****  
****“Then let’s stay like this. Doesn’t it make sense?”** **  
****  
****The person remained pink, but nodded.** **  
****  
****  
****And they lay back into the comfort of the soft fur for a moment, content and happy, looking up at the stars above them. This was what life was all about. If anyone asked him, everyone should aim to have a cuddle buddy they could cuddle with on the back of a flying guinea pig whilst flying through space.** **  
****  
****But something was niggling at him. As if he needed to remember something.** **  
****  
****“What’s wrong?” The person had finally returned to their black, green and blue mix.** **  
****  
****“Well, I think I need to-”** **  
****  
****A loud braying sound interrupted him, as a familiar giraffe cantered past them.** **  
****  
****With a very familiar essay written on its back.** **  
****  
****He sat up abruptly** **  
****  
****“My essay!” he called out.** **  
****  
****“Essay?”** **  
****  
****“Yeah, I printed it out on that giraffe so I could hand it in, but it keeps escaping.”** **  
****  
****“Makes sense. I usually print mine on Stripe.”** **  
****  
****“Stripe?”** **  
****  
****The person patted the fur they lay on.** **  
****  
****“Ooooh, so it’s called Stripe. How come?”** **  
****  
****“Because he’s a racing guinea pig. You know, like racing Stripes. He’s even faster than the Red Racer.”** **  
****  
****“No way, really? Red Racer is pretty damn fast.”** **  
****  
****“Stripe is faster.”** **  
****  
****He glanced at the escaping giraffe.** **  
****  
****“Fast enough to catch a giraffe?”** **  
****  
****“Easily. As long as we caught him some fireflies. He likes to eat them.”** **  
****  
****“Where can we find those?”** **  
****  
****And the person pointed to a ballroom, where a tiny crowd of well dressed fireflies were performing varying intricate dances. He flushed at the sight.** **  
****  
****“They’re so...adorable. Do we...have to?”** **  
****  
****“If we want Stripe to be fast.”** **  
****  
****And he looked to his person. Who had graduated from ‘the person’ to ‘his person’. And it felt natural for him to take the person’s hand. He kinda wanted to see the colours turn pink again. And he wasn’t disappointed. The colours shimmered into a pale pink hue, but the grip tightened.** **  
****  
****“You have nice hands. They feel good. Is this okay?”** **  
****  
****“...Yeah.”** **  
****  
****“Gooood. Look how well mine fit!” And he held their hands up.** **  
****  
****He grinned at the colours. Was it him, or was...definition starting to take shape slightly?** **  
****  
****“Okay, let’s go get some fireflies!”** **  
****  
****And Stripe, as if awaiting a command, began to move at the fireflies, darting back and forth.** **  
****  
****“How many are there?” he called above the rush of the buzzing noises, and the odd ‘waka waka’ noise Stripe had begun to make when eating them.** **  
****  
****“Mm...ten million of them”** **  
****  
****“That’s a lot! How many will make Stripe super fast?”** **  
****  
****“I’m not sure. Maybe if he ate that blue one” And he was surprised at the arm of the person, which was entirely clear and in focus, blurring out as he looked towards where the person’s face would be. The two green shades where his eyes would be, were focused on where he was pointing.** **  
****  
****Huh, it was a he. He probably should have realised earlier, but it didn’t seem important. But now, it was. He shrugged. It made sense.** **  
****  
****“Go Stripe! Catch that fast, blue thing!”** **  
****  
****And the fast blue thing led them on the merriest of chases, and distracted and evaded. But he found he didn’t mind so much, because the two of them were laughing, and Stripe was popcorning in the air and it was the best thing ever. Occasionally a sunset flew by, trying to distract them, but Stripe simply barrel rolled and loop da looped.** **  
****  
****“Stripe is so clever...” He commented in wonder.** **  
****  
****“He’s the best.” His person agreed.** **  
****  
****“I think we’re getting close to the blue thing. You think it’ll make us fast enough?”** **  
****  
****“Definitely.”** **  
****  
****“You think we’ll catch it?”** **  
****  
****“If we follow it long enough, it’ll get tired, right?”** **  
****  
****“That makes sense.” And he smiled at his person. And he knew they were smiling back.** **  
****  
****“You’re turning pink.”** **  
****  
****He blinked. He was? He tried to look at his hand, but...couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. People couldn’t see their own bodies after all. Why had he even tried. And he looked sheepishly at his person. And he thought that he could almost see a smile under the blue. Did he need glasses?** **  
****  
****He heard a clinking sound as sound came from behind them.** **  
****  
****“Uh oh.”** **  
****  
****“What?”** **  
****  
****“We’ve got a herd of shot glasses chasing us.”** **  
****  
****And he glanced behind him, and the glasses clinked again each other as they sped along, trying to chase them.** **  
****  
****“Go Stripe go!”** **  
****  
****And Stripe did, abandoning the blue shiny thing. And if he was honest, he couldn’t remember why they’d even needed it.** **  
****  
****And it was while they were upside down that they were able to slide on the rings on a planet, the glittering ice and rock sparkling as they did so. And he heard the sound of smashing as the shot glasses hit the surface of the ring and smashed.** **  
****  
****“Yeeaah! We win!” He laughed** **  
****  
****  
  
**

**And he leaned in close to Stripe, whispering loudly and conspiratorially in his ear.** **  
****  
****“You did sooo good Stripe. You’re awesomely fast and cool, and I think you’re so cute.”  
** **  
****  
****Stripe wheeked and turned to snuffle at him.  
** **  
****  
****“He definitely is. The most cute and cool thing.” His person agreed. And he grinned and leaned in again.** **  
****  
****“And I think your owner is super cute. But don’t tell him.”** **  
****  
****And the pink bloomed once more. Except now, it seemed to focus on..specific areas. The black and the blue and the green remained, and the pink tinged under the green. The combination was beautiful,** **  
****  
****“...I think you’re super cute too.”** **  
****  
****He pulled back.** **  
****  
****“Hey! That was a secret between me and Stripe. You weren’t supposed to know.”** **  
****  
****“Why not?”** **  
****  
****“I...dunno. Just cos I say so.”** **  
****  
****“Okay. Also, you have jam in your hair.”** **  
****  
****“Gross!” He put his hand up to his hair, his hand came away red and sticky. So he licked his finger.** **  
****  
****“Strawberry? I think?” he commented thoughtfully. He offered his finger to his person.** **  
****  
****“Try it.”** **  
****  
****The person shook their head.** **  
****  
****“Aww, c’mon, it’s really nice. And I need a second opinion.”** **  
****  
****And his person leaned in, and gently, licked his finger.** **  
****  
****“Definitely strawberry.”** **  
****  
****“I knew it! But...my hand is all sticky now.”** **  
****  
****Stripe burbled, turning slightly in expectation.** **  
****  
****“Stripe wants some.”** **  
****  
****And he held out his hand, laughing at the soft licking.** **  
****  
****“I didn’t know guinea pigs liked strawberry jam.”** **  
****  
****“Stripe likes anything.”** **  
****  
****A** **_tap tap_ ** **noise interrupted their discussion, and they both turned. On a purple planet, they watched as two penguins learned how to tapdance from a teacher seal. He opened his hand, noting the two star candies that still lay there.** **  
****  
****“What’s the second best flavour after green?” he asked. There was silence for a moment.** **  
****  
****“The yellow one.”** **  
****  
****He looked, but there wasn’t a yellow one.** **  
****  
****“I only have pink and blue. And I ate the green.” He looked at his person.** **  
****  
****“I have one left.”** **  
****  
****He nodded. He didn’t wanna take it from him.** **  
****  
****“...We can share it.”** **  
****  
****“But, it’s your last one.”** **  
****  
****“I don’t mind sharing it with you.”**

 **  
****And his person pulled out the yellow star, laying it on his palm. It was small, and covered in edible gold glitter.** **  
****  
****“Close your eyes.” his person instructed.** **  
****  
****He did so. Why wouldn’t he. There was a slight smile on his face as he did so.** **  
****  
****And his eyes almost shot open as he felt lips on his. And then it suddenly wasn’t any more of a big deal than them hugging, or them holding hands. This was what he did with his person. So, he kissed back. And he felt a slight pushing of something against his mouth, so he opened his own, and felt the star candy pass to his own mouth.**

 **  
****And for a while, they kissed, sharing the candy between them quite naturally, eyes closed, enjoying the moment. And eventually, the candy was gone, and he wasn’t sure who had finished it. Not that it mattered. Because he had opened his eyes, and he could see his person vividly.** **  
****  
****The colours now made sense. The dark had been black hair, the blue his clothing, and the green.** **  
****  
****His eyes.** **  
****  
****“I can...see you properly.” His person commented slowly.** **  
****  
****“You couldn’t before?”** **  
****  
****“No….you were all blurry.”** **  
****  
****He laughed.** **  
****  
****“You too.”** **  
****  
****“You’re blushing.”** **  
****  
****“So are you.”** **  
****  
****Stripe wheeked.  
  
And he started laughing. ** **  
****  
****“Stripe’s feeling neglected.” He ran his fingers through soft fur once more.** **  
****  
****  
****“So, the yellow stars...they taste like kisses.”** **  
****  
****“Yeah.”** **  
****  
****“That was the last one.”** **  
****  
****“We should find more.”** **  
****  
****“Let’s go!”** **  
****  
****Except, at that moment, on the cusp of their new quest, an old annoyance made itself known. By crashing into Stripe.** **  
****  
****All he saw was giraffe, guinea pig fur, and green eyes, before he was hurtling off the safety of Stripe, and into space....** **  
**  
  
....  
  
  
  
.....  
  
  
Onto the floor.  
  
  
  
Kenny’s eyes shot open at the landing.  
  
He’d landed on his elbow, and the shockwave of hitting his funny bone caused him to groan, and he pathetically crawled back into his bed. He wanted to go back. He was having such a good dream. But he was losing parts of it. Something about jam. And there was a guinea pig. And a boy. He opened his hand. He remembered he’d been clutching something. A candy. And he felt bitter disappointment that his hand was empty.  
  
He’d kissed that boy. And he might still be doing so if it weren’t for that dumb giraffe. That dumb essay gir-  
  
  
  
He sat up abruptly, and looked over at his laptop. The cursor on the empty word doc was still there.  
  
  
7:10 AM.  
  
  
  
FUUUUUUUUCK  
  
  
  
He had six to seven hours to write this stupid thing, otherwise he’d get a zero on this essay.  
  
Fucking- He needed coffee now. And probably wikipedia. It was the only way at this stage. And a low mark was better than no mark.  
  
Fuck, he hadn’t actually _meant_ to fall asleep.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“Please god. Please. I beg you man. Please let this stupid bus get here in the next 2 minutes” Kenny muttered to himself. The bus, the one that would’ve gotten him to campus just on time, was late. By ten minutes.  
  
“And if it gets here on time, let it be driven by Red Racer. It needs to make up some serious time.”  
  
Huh...Red Racer. He hadn’t thought about that series in...well, years. He might have to dig it out of his hard drive and have a binge section.  
  
  
No Kenny. Essay first, anime after.  
  
  
It shouldn’t be that order, but it was. And his prayers had clearly worked, as the bus had turned the corner, and was pulling over at his stop.  
  
“Fuck yeah, thanks god, ‘ol buddy pal of mine.” He celebrated.  
  
  
The secretary of department looked less than impressed as he skidded just in front of her.  
  
“You realise Mr.McCormick that a minute later and I’d’ve had to have rejected it.” She spoke stiffly. 

  
“And I am eternally thankful that you’re being merciful. It was the bus. It was late AND slow.”  
  
She eyed him, and took the essay from him.  
  
“I’ll accept it. Just about. Try not to cut it so fine next time, Mr.McCormick.”  
  
He gave her a winning and thankful smile. 

  
“Thank you, I will. Hundred percent.” And with a wave, he left the room.  
  
  
“That’s what you said last time!” She called down the hall.  
  
  
Kenny didn’t even care. He was free. The essay was done. This meant celebration time.  
  
  
It was time for a rose latte. From his favourite little place.  
  
  
And there was a queue there, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten his essay in, he was gonna watch Red Racer all day today, and…  
  
  
He’d had the most amazing dream.  
  
  
That guy had been perfect. Okay, mooost of the dream hadn’t made any sense, but it had been...perfect. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the soft fur, the penguins, the taste of jam, of candy.  
  
  
Of kissing.  
  
  
He sighed lightly. God, that had been a great dream.  
  
  
Great dreams were so..bittersweet. The perfect moment, and an essay giraffe had ruined it.  
  
  
He looked to the blond serving. He was becoming enough of a regular now that the blond recognised him and gave a smile of recognition.  
  
“H..hey. What can I get you? I’d recommend not getting the croissants.”  
  
“How come?”  
  
“Well. I think they were made by fairies. Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t put them on, but I walked into the kitchen and there they were. Don’t trust them man.”  
  
Kenny loved this place. It was quieter, owned by the cutest couple, and had unusual menu items. It was different to chain shops, and sometimes he’d come in here and pretend to himself that he was working on an essay, when actually, he was watching Korean dramas.  
  
And one of the owners, the blond server, was really fun to talk to. Always had an odd theory about something. And who was Kenny to tell him that it wasn’t true. It might be. He kind of liked the idea of magical croissant making fairies.  
  
...Maybe this sort of thinking was why he had such weird dreams.  
  
And the second owner, a brunette in a red apron, came over as the server began to tell him about the dangers of the croissants, giving him a kiss on the cheek.  
  
“Tweek, honey, I put those ones in.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Damn, I wanted magical fey croissants.” Kenny lamented, causing the brunette to grin, and the blond to give him a panicked look.  
  
“Why would you want that??”  
  
  
“Think about it, magical bread? I bet it tastes amazing. Not as good as your baking obviously, but still cool.”  
  
  
The brunette laughed.  
  
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”  
  
  
“Ah, sorry. What would you like?” The blond looked apologetic.  
  
  
“Rose latte and…” Was he hungry? Yeah, but for what. Toast? Yeah that sounded good, but not just with butter…  
  
  
  
“ _You have jam in your hair.”_ _  
__  
__“Strawberry? I think?”  
  
_ _  
__  
_“...and toast with jam. Please.”  
  
  
“To stay or to go?”  
  
“Stay please.”  
  
“Coming right up” The brunette declared as the blond typed in on the register.  
  
  
“That’ll be…$7.25”  
  
Kenny pulled out his wallet, sliding out his card.  
  
  
And that’s when he noticed them.  
  
  
Little bags sat next to the baked goods. Little transparent cellophane bags, with star shaped candy in them. In shades of blue, red and green, covered in glitter. Tied with a white ribbon.  
  
“Hey, what are those?”  
  
The blond glanced to where he was pointing.  
  
  
“Stardrops. We’re branching out into sweets and confectionery. I think the flavours are strawberry, melon and blueberry.”  
  
  
“...there’s no yellow ones.” Kenny said quietly.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“Uh, nothing. Can I take a bag?”  
  
“Sure. That’ll be….$9.50.”  
  
Kenny tapped his card on the reader.  
  
“We’ll bring your latte and toast.”  
  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
  
And he picked up the little bag that the blond had handed over, looking at it carefully. The little glitter covered stars..looked just like the ones from his dream.  
  
Huh, maybe he’d seen them before, and his subconscious had used them. He sat down, opening the bag carefully, before picking out one of each colour. He clenched his hand.  
  
  
They even felt the same. How weird.  
  
  
He picked up the pink one between his thumb and forefinger, before popping it into his mouth.  
  
  
  
 _“The pink ones are like...hug flavoured.”  
  
_  
  
Kenny tasted strawberry, and a hint of warmth that was comforting. And he wished he’d tried the other flavours in his dream. He didn’t know what a hug tasted like, and if it was this.  
  
Well he wouldn’t make that mistake this time.  
  
Finishing the pink one, he moved onto the blue one.  
  
  
  
 _“Blue tastes like falling through the sky.”  
  
_  
  
This was...unusual. Strawberry was a pretty standard flavour. But blueberry....it was good. Different. Sharp, but soft. Kinda reminded him of a blueberry muffin. Which he supposed made sense.  
  
He eyed the last flavour that sat there.  
  
  
  
 _“But my favourite ones are the green ones.”  
  
_ _  
_  
This one he had tried. And as he placed it on his tongue, he didn’t expect stars. And at first, he tasted melon. But, it was refreshing, and kinda..tingly. And..popping candy sensations filled his mouth.  
  
It was like he remembered.  
  
  
  
 _“What do they taste like?”  
_ _  
__  
__“Stars.”_ _  
__  
  
  
_“You look starstruck there”  
  
Kenny jumped as the brunette placed a mug and a plate on the table. He gestured to the sweets.  
  
“They’re good aren’t they?”  
  
Kenny looked at the small bag.  
  
“Yeah. They really are. You did a good job.”  
  
The brunette laughed.  
  
“I wish I could take credit for them. One of the confectionery students, a friend of mine, he came up with them. In fact…”  
  
The brunette was now looking past him, to the door.  
  
“...You can thank him yourself.”  
  
  
  
And the door bell tinkled. And Kenny turned, as the brunette approached the direction of the door.  
  
  
  
“Hey Clyde.”  
  
“Heeeey, Craig. How ya been?”  
  
“Yeah. Good. What’s up?”  
  
Kenny’s eyes widened.  
  
It was him. It was fucking him. His companion. His literal dream boy.  
  
How?  
  
“Yeah, been pretty busy this week. We’re getting some good custom. How’s college?”  
  
  
“Busy. Barely had time to sleep. Got a few evaluations coming up.”  
  
  
  
And he had clearly noticed someone was watching him. Because the person-Craig?-glanced over at him, obviously wondering why someone was looking at him. And his own eyes, green, just like in the dream, widened.  
  
  
In recognition. In fucking recognition. This guy RECOGNISED him. Just like he recognised him. It wasn’t as if he could reason that maybe he’d seen this guy before and his mind had used him for 'dream boy' inspiration.  
  
  
And the brunette, noticing that his friend’s attention had wavered, glanced to where he was looking, before his face brightened.  
  
  
“Oh, hey Craig. Our customer here was just complimenting your creation. Sounds like they’re a hit.”  
  
  
The dream guy who was real guy, known as Craig, glanced down at the table, where the candies sat. And then back at him, as if trying to find the answers to the universe in him.  
  
  
And Kenny felt...awestruck. He felt embarrassed. He was pretty sure he was blushing. He'd held that guy's hand. He'd KISSED him.   
  
  
He opened his mouth, and then closed it again.  
  
  
  
  
  
They just needed an essay giraffe now. **  
**  
  
  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Craig and Kenny don’t know each other in real life but have been interacting in their dreams. They both take it as just being weird and vivid dreams until one day they cross paths and realise their dream guy is actually real.
> 
> ....
> 
> I had SO much fun writing this.


	5. Turn Me On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 5. Summary of chapter, as always will be at the end (to avoid spoilers). This was requested as a prompt by Anonymous (Tumblr). I hope it is a good read ♥️
> 
> A little forewarning, it's not too explicit, but there is a little bit of smut ahoy. It's tiny, and mostly written in a less literal style, but still. 
> 
> As always lovely people, let me know your thoughts!

  
  


* * *

## 

##  **TURN ME ON  
  
  
**

* * *

_  
__Story Song (Kenny’s Dance Number): July Child - Turn Me On_ _  
  
_

* * *

  
  
  
  
“AGH! Be careful man! Jeez I swear if you’d been like...rgh...2 meters to the left, that car would’ve hit you both!”  
  
Craig honestly wasn’t quite sure why he was here, lost in a sea of at least twenty other people. The streets were crowded, loud and very bright. It had rained earlier, and the neon lighting from the nightclubs, bars and restaurants reflected from sky to floor.

The group he was currently in was being led by a tall, slender girl with long, dark hair, who kept alternating between directing (herding) the group, flipping off the beeping traffic as they crossed, and offering small kisses to her partner, who had loosely linked her arm with the girl’s, and was currently leaning black, well curled tresses on her shoulder as they walked, a dreamy, partially drunk expression on her features.  
  
Clyde had introduced him, and pointed out everyone’s names. Craig had instantly forgotten them all. He supposed it was unimportant, seeing as this wasn’t something he was likely to repeat anytime soon.  
  
Why was he here again?  
  
“STRIIIIP CLUUUB. YEAAAH BOOOOI!”  
  
Ah. That was why.  
  
  
Craig liked to keep to himself. He hadn’t really branched out much during college. He had his group of friends, and that was fine. Or it would have been fine, except now they were now Seniors, and Clyde had spent the best part of three years begging, cajoling, blackmailing and bribing to try and get him to come out...  
  
..  
  
  
 _“C’mooon man! Two of my close friends got engaged at the start of the year, and they want a casual bachelor party thing, except it’s not really a bachelor party because apparently their dads want to come to their ACTUAL bachelor party, and they don’t wanna go to a strip club with their dads, so they-”_ _  
__  
__They were both in the kitchen. Why Clyde had followed him to the kitchen, instead of finding something on Netflix, he didn’t know. Or he hadn’t. Now he understood with startling clarity._ _  
  
_

_Craig had tuned Clyde out at this point, far too focused on his triple task of watching a popcorn making video on his tablet, trying to figure out exactly how he was supposed to know if all the kernels of popcorn had popped without peeking, and removing his socks using his feet. Because he’d accidentally dropped some oil, and stepped in it, and he could feel it._ _  
__  
__“...Craig? Craig are you listening?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Nope.” He replied blandly. He’d check. It sounded like it had stopped popping, so that was probably a good sign._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Dude! Please! You never come out anywhere! My friends are starting to think you don’t exist. They’ve started making bets Craig. BETS.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Craig shook the pan, perturbed that most of the kernels had yet to pop. Why was he so shit at this? He looked to the video of the wildly smiling person on the video, demonstrating their perfect, stupid popcorn._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Dude. If you come out, this one time. I won’t ask you for at least...a month.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Craig’s ears pricked up at this. Was it worth a night of torture to forego a month of incessant begging?_ _  
_ _  
_ _“..Two months.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _And from here, he could see Clyde’s face brighten. Fuck, should’ve asked for three months. He mentally added bartering to his list of things to improve on._ _  
_ _  
_ _.._  
  
And so, he was here. And Clyde hadn’t exaggerated (which was honestly, a surprise). His friends, upon meeting him, had greeted him, and then the comments and questions had begun.  
  
“You’re a lot taller than I was expecting.” The dark haired teen eyed him up.  
  
“Clyde tells me you’re studying International Relations as your major. Sounds complicated. What’s it like?” The inebriated redhead asked, hand firmly in the aforementioned noirette’s.  
  
“So...how come we haven’t seen you out before?” A perky blond girl with long hair asked, the red haired girl next to her nodding in agreement.  
  
And a stocky brunette barged into the conversation, with a loud, grating voice.  
  
“So, be honest. You’re not really Craig are you? We reckon Clyde here made up a person called ‘Craig’. He’s hired you as an actor to play him, right?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“HA! I fucking KNEW it!”  
  
“Craig! What the hell man, I thought we were friends! Why would you betray me like this?”  
  
“Sorry Mr. Donovan, you didn’t pay me enough to pretend to be your friend as well. Happy to offer that at the right price.”  
  
And that had sent the closer group into laughter. It was worth getting elbowed by Clyde afterwards.  
  
“Dude, now they think I actually hired you.”

Craig sighed.  
  
“No they don’t. Why would they think that?”  
  
“You don’t know them like I doooooo.” And Clyde was doing that _annoying_ thing where he was tearing up even though he wasn’t _really_ upset. He was just trying to make Craig feel bad. And he rolled his eyes at the antics. Clyde was such a baby.  
  
“Fine. I’ll do some damage control.”  
  
“Yeaaah!” and Clyde latched onto his arm, which Craig found very odd, even by drunk Clyde’s standards, until he leaned close to his ear.  
  
“Dude...Nicole is kinda...hot. Do you think she’s taken?”  
  
“Which one’s Nicole?”  
  
Clyde pointed to the front, where the two girls were still walk-snuggling.  
  
“Which one?”  
  
“The one with dark hair.”  
  
  
Craig just gave him the most unimpressed look, and Clyde blinked, and then laughed.  
  
“Ah, right gotcha! So she’s the one with the shorter dark hair. The curly hair. She doesn’t come out that often, but...she’s like...wow...super hot.”  
  
“...I’m pretty sure the other dark haired girl is her girlfriend.”  
  
“You mean Wendy?” And Clyde squinted. Watched the two of them shared eskimo kisses as they walked.   
  
“Damn…You’ve got a good eye.”  
  
Craig rolled his eyes. It was pretty fucking obvious they were together.  
  
“Ah well. Maybe one of the ladies at the club will want some of this Donovan.”  
  
“Promise me you won’t actually speak to them like that in there. They’re there to do a job.”  
  
Clyde released his arm and gave a haughty sniff.  
  
“Don’t make it sound boring dude. Strip clubs are magical places. Even for you.”  
  
Craig shrugged. It was unlikely. He didn’t really do the whole ‘sexuality’ thing.  
  
“C’mon dude. There’s gonna be someone in there that catches your fancy. I guarantee it.”  
  
“I don’t really care either way. I’m not here for that. Where exactly are we going anyway?”  
  
“S’place called ‘ **34+35** ’. I’ve not been before. I think some of the guys have been a few times. It’s a coed place, so has something for everyone, different rooms and such. Even you.”  
  
“So, an empty room then.” Craig quipped drily, causing Clyde to laugh.  
  
“Okay yeah, probably not that.”  
  
“It’s fine if you just wanna sit and drink as well” a new voice spoke, causing the two of them to look over.  
  
“Heeey Token, what’s up?”  
  
“Thought I’d head over to see how much your ‘hired actor’ charges. I’ve got a wedding to go to in the summer, and I could really do with a plus one”

Token gave a small smirk, Clyde groaned, and Craig offered the first smile of the evening.  
  
“I didn’t fucking hiiiiire him. He’s actually my friend!”  
  
Token chuckled, patting Clyde on the shoulder.  
  
“Don’t take it so seriously Clyde, I’m just messing with you. I did wanna come over and say hi though. You’re quite the mystery Craig. Three years, and we’ve seen nothing of you, and Clyde finally managed to get you out with us.”  
  
Craig, not really having a comment or answer, shrugged. Luckily, the advantages of being friends with Clyde is that he was usually happy to fill the silence.  
  
“Dude, you have no idea how much I begged. This guy here is such a shut in wannabe.”  
  
Not true. Craig liked being outdoors. He jogged, went to the gym, met with other friends for coffee. He sometimes snuck out to stargaze. He was perfectly social. He just didn’t like nights out. But Clyde didn’t understand the concept of drinking and dancing not being his idea of a fun activity.  
  
But Craig didn’t try to explain that to Token. He didn’t really need to justify himself to anyone here. It’s not like they were his friends. They were Clyde’s. One night, and he could go back to his normal way of existing.  
  
“Alright! Everyone got bills? Or does anyone need an ATM?” The girl-Wendy-called to the group.

Some members of the group gave general noises of assent. Others were already ready. So, the larger group divided for the moment into those that lined up at the ATM, and the others that stood around waiting for them.

Craig found himself next to the strange, panicky blond guy, who was biting nervously at his pinky finger nail.  
  
Craig surprised himself by being the first one to reach out socially.  
  
“You’re….Tweek, right?” He’d remembered that name, because it had seemed so...fitting, based on the mannerisms of the blond. Tweek glanced up at him.

  
“Y-yo man. Yeah, that’s me. And you’re Craig, right?”

  
“Yeah.”

  
And a small silence filled the space. And Craig remembered that he hated small talk.

  
“Have you ever been here before?”

  
“Ugh!- I, no. We don’t usually go here. It’s usually Cartman, or Stan. Bebe and Red sometimes. Usually when we’re all out, we go drinking. It’s gonna be weird going in there man.”

  
“Yeah. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it either. Or that line.” He was eyeing the queue.

  
“Pfft, we don’t have to worry about that.” A voice to their left spoke. A different blond stood there, smoking. Craig noted the long tribal tattoo that ran up his forearm. And the long silver scar that cut across his eye.

  
“W-we don’t?” Tweek asked. The blond shook his head as he exhaled, long, wispy tendrils of smoke weaving and following the air current from the exhale.

  
“Nah man. We get to go straight in. VIPs and all.” And he threw his cigarette to the floor, moving away without even a goodbye or a backwards glance.

  
“Who…”

  
“Leo. Cartman’s boyfriend.”

  
Craig tried to remember which one Cartman was.

And he heard an odd, jittery sound, which turned out to be Tweek laughing. He let Tweek gently pull him by the jacket sleeve, and watched as Tweek pointed.

  
“That guy there. That’s Cartman.”  
Oh. The guy that had helped him rib at Clyde.

“Cool. And those two next to him are…”

“That’s Stan and Kyle. The three of them grew up together. Those two are the ones getting married.”

“There’s a lot of....gay couples in this group.”

“Yeah. I guess there is actually. Although...Heidi and Kevin. And I think Jimmy and Nancy have a thing for each other..agh, dating seems like so much pressure though.”  
  
Craig couldn’t agree more.  
  
“But don’t worry, it’s not like...a couples fest. There’s a lot of single people here too. I think-”  
  
“Okay everyone! Let’s go!”  
  
And Craig reluctantly followed the group, telling himself that it was worth it, for the two months of peace and quiet.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Once inside, groups had quickly dispersed and broken up into smaller groups. Craig watched Clyde making the rounds with his friends, ogling every woman that walked past. Craig supposed if he was a good friend, he’d hide Clyde’s bank card for the evening.  
  
But Clyde was also the reason he’d been forced here, so he focused instead on getting drunk as quickly as possible. If he had to awkwardly sit in this place for hours, he was going to do it in a drunken haze.  
  
And after the second drink, he’d started to...relax a little. Take in the sights. The strippers in here were actually all pretty attractive, in a generic, everyone would agree kind of way.

He supposed it could be worse. It wasn’t a seedy place by any means. And the strippers and servers seemed to sense his ‘leave me the fuck alone’ vibe well enough. He was buying drinks, so that was enough to placate them.

  
Why had Clyde even invited him to this? It wasn’t as if he knew anyone but Clyde. And he could hang out with Clyde at home. Why did they have to do it here?  
  
“You look like a wet blanket.” A voice to his left said. He turned, seeing a person he’d not spoken to yet. A tall brunet stood there, relaxing against the bar as if he’d been there all night and not just arrived.  
  
“Scott.” The guy held up his drink in a toast gesture.  
  
“Craig.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re the man of mystery tonight. Girls of the group can’t stop gossiping. Trying to decide if you sleep with the hens or the cocks.”  
  
“Neither. Not a chicken.”  
  
“Sorry, that probably sounded blunt. I don’t like to beat around the bush though. Always good to weigh your options, right?”  
  
Craig glanced at the brunet. He was jock built, with a very boy next door kind of look, and to anyone else, would be an attractive option.

  
“I’ll let you know when I find out what I like.”  
  
Scott laughed, using a hand to steady himself against the bar.  
  
“First time I’ve heard that. Surely everyone knows what they like.”  
  
“Guess I’ve not found out yet.”  
  
“Well, maybe you’ll find something here to help with that. Who knows?”  
  
Craig raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. He was surrounded by half naked people of different genders, shapes, sizes, hair colours, eye colours. If there wasn’t a combination here that appealed to him, it likely didn’t exist.  
  
 _“Alright everyone, put your hands together for the next dancer. Montana!”_  
  
The song changed.  
  
 _“I'm too sexy for my shirt, Too sexy for my shirt, So sexy it hurts, And I'm too sexy for Milan, Too sexy for Milan, New York, and Japan.”_ _  
__  
_And a very well endowed woman wearing chaps, a cowboy hat, and a very, very small plaid crop top began to slink onto the stage.  
  
And Craig had to steady himself as someone came crashing into him.  
  
“Craig. Dude. She’s the ONE.”  
  
Craig stopped himself from pushing the body away from him when he recognised it was Clyde, who was drunkenly pointing at the girl now wrapping her legs around a pole.  
  
“It’s her. She is my future wife.”  
  
Scott started laughing, and Clyde glared.  
  
“It’s not funny Malkinson. It’s true.”  
  
“You are gonna get your heart broken.”  
  
“I’m gonna ask her for a dance when she’s done. And then you’ll see!” Clyde gesticulated widely, accidentally hitting Craig in the ear.  
  
“Clyde, fuck off.” Craig cursed as he rubbed at his ear.  
  
“Craaaig, I’m sorry.” And Clyde began to rub his ear.  
  
“Dude, get the hell off. It’s fine. Stop poking it, that’s not helping.”  
  
“Hey Donovan, looks like your future wife is done.”

Scott pointed, as the young woman walked off stage, hips waving goodbye as she went.  
Clyde’s eyes watched her leave very, very carefully.  
  
“Okay. I’m gonna ask her.” And just as he made to leave, Craig grabbed him by the sleeve.  
  
“Craig what the fu-”  
  
“Clyde, what are you gonna ask her?”  
  
“To marry me?”  
  
“Try again.” Craig said firmly.  
  
“...For a dance?”  
  
“Better.” And Craig begrudgingly let go of his sleeve.   
  
“You’re a good friend.” Scott commented.

Craig took a sip of his drink.  
  
“You are literally the epitome of tall, dark and mysterious, you realise that? Your silence just adds to that.”  
  
Craig honestly couldn’t tell if this person was just being friendly and playful, or was hitting on him.  
  
“Maybe I just don’t have much to say.” He eventually replied truthfully. And he didn’t. He was a pretty simple, some might say boring person. He didn’t really have any dark, mysterious skeletons in his closet, he was...just a student, studying things, trying to graduate. Not exactly novel worthy stuff.  
  
“I’m sure to some, that’s not what they’re focusing on. They’re probably more interested in your looks.”  
  
Craig scoffed quietly, lips returning to glass. What looks? Everything about him was average, apart from maybe his height.  
  
“I’m being serious. Not just me that thinks so either. You’ve been eyed up by quite a few people.”  
  
“It’s the ‘mystery’” Craig air quoted with his fingers.  
  
“...They’ll get bored when they realise I’m just me. And not some exciting, mysterious thing.”  
  
“Oh I don’t know. I’ve learned a bit from you so far, and I wouldn’t say it’s boring.” Scott commented calmly, his eyes on his drink as if observing the liquid and deciding if it was indeed drinkable.  
  
Craig raised an eyebrow, which when Scott looked up to see, laughed.  
  
“What, you don’t believe me? Let’s see...You care for your friends. You’re blunt, you don’t like to waste words. You’re a joker, in a dry sense, you’re a bit of a wallflower.”

Scott teased as he finished by downing his drink, before standing up straight.  
  
“I’m sure I’ll be back, after I’ve said hi to some folks.”

  
And Craig, more out of politeness than anything, raised his own glass in acknowledgement, before following suit and downing his own drink.  
  
He was not drunk enough to deal with this shit.

Either that had been a pity conversation, or somehow, Scott had thought he was somehow worth flirting with.  
  
And as he flagged down the bartender and paid for another ridiculously overpriced drink, he kind of hoped that no one else would try to approach the ‘wallflower.’  
  
 _“And now to give a very warm welcome to our very own Prada!”_ _  
__  
_The beat of the music changed. Slower, sensual. It went well with his drink.

_"For the longest, while we jamming in the party, and you're whining on me, pushing everything, right back on top of me, but if you think you're gonna get away from me...you better change your mind."_

  
Or that was the drink talking. Good. It was about time the drink was doing the talking. It had taken what, like four, five drinks?  
  
And as he finally relaxed in the knowledge that his inhibitions were gently unclawing themselves from him, he vaguely looked to the stage.  
  
 _“Hollering' for mercy, then I whisper in his ear 'so whine harder', And then he said to me, 'boy just push that thing, push it harder back on me'.”_ _  
__  
_A long, lithe body, shimmering with gold. Everywhere. Skin, hair. Tight golden leather pants. Sunkissed didn’t do justice. There was no way that the sun simply "kissed" that body and stopped there.

This person was sunfucked. Every inch was indication that the celestial body had had its way with this being.

And unlike Montana, this was less...flamboyance and more...subtly coquettish. Eyelashes were lowered, and fluttered upwards, the stage lights catching the shine of glitter caught between delicate lashes.  
  
  
  
Every movement, every step, it was so..precise and measured. No movement was wasted, or unintentional. A dancer’s movement.  
  
 _“For the longest, while we jamming in the party, And you're whining on me, Pushing everything, Right back on top of me...”_  
  
Lips parted slightly, to suggest miming certain words of the song. And Craig didn’t want to think.

Didn’t want anything more than what he was being given right now. He wanted no interruptions, no jarring outsiders to break the delicate, unfelt thread of mesmerisation that he felt connected to this performance, to this person.  
  
It was almost too much. There was an overall package of splendour, but god, everything came with such subtlety. He wanted to analyse the movements, or the clothing, or the reaction from the audience, but then he’d miss the smaller, delicate movements. The slightest movement of eyes as they glanced out over the crowd, how they would slowly blink, and when opened, be focused on a new direction, a new person in the audience.  
  
And he’d never wanted someone to both look at him and not notice his existence as much as he did now. The oxymoronic fight and flee reflex, but in a social twist. Notice, and don’t notice.  
  
Violet blue wasn’t so forgiving, as eventually, there was a single sideways glance in his direction, almost an offhand, cursory glance to the corner of the room. Where the paying patrons of the establishment were unlikely to frequent, and the glance was just for courtesy’s sake.

And Craig waited, with held breath, waiting for the gaze to recognise this, to move on after a blink to more fruitful horizons. As it had done so far.  
  
Instead, eyes blinked, and remained on him, and blinked again, still on him. And Craig’s attention on returning, and on maintaining the eye contact, was almost thwarted as a glossy bottom lip was slid easily between teeth, and was held and teased for a heart stopping moment, before teeth released it, to allow it to curve unevenly into the smallest smirk.

And another blink, and the eyes moved, but not away from him. They roamed up his body, and down, and up once again, slowly, taking their time, eventually focusing back on his own gaze once more.  
  
And Craig felt a heat pool in his stomach at the change in expression from the dancer.

Because the gaze, which had previously seemed light, teasing, ethereal, fleetingly flirtatious, like ghostly will o’ wisp lights dancing, had now solidified into something far more raw and predatory.

And it was probably wishful, oh so wishful thinking, but it was a heated gaze of _want._ And Craig hoped and prayed that the look wasn’t mirrored in his own expression. Even if the response was indeed the same. _  
__  
_And the eyes watched him carefully as the mouth shaped to mime the words of the song.  
  
 _“So, if you think you're gonna get away from me,You better change your mind. You're going home...You're going home with me tonight.”_ _  
__  
_The rational part of himself told him this was all the drink. The drink and the lights, and the golden skin, and glitter, and the glossed lips and ghost fire gazes. And maybe a little something to do with the combination of a hand idly toying with the zip on pants, and the way a leg snaked around the stage pole.  
  
And finally, their gazes broke, as the dance continued, legs wrapping firmly, tightly around the pole. _  
__  
_And Craig really, really wished that his moment of ‘sexual attraction’ to someone hadn’t occurred in the middle of a crowded strip club.

And maybe tomorrow, he’d feel altogether mortified over the whole thing. But honestly, he felt that mortification or any kind of embarrassment would spoil something that he planned to fully remember and..utilise going forward.

_"So, let me hold you, oh caress my body, you got me going crazy you, turn me on, turn me on..."_  
  
  
And if he was aware of the slightest, lightest stroking with the side of his thumb along the line of his own jeans, moving higher with each sweep, well...he didn’t acknowledge it.  
  
He didn’t halt the movements either though.  
  
He wasn’t quite in the same predicament as the dancer in terms of attire. Those trousers, unlike his own, would hide nothing whatsoever. And they didn’t.  
  
It was probably a common side effect to a stripper during a dance. But the dancer seemed unconcerned, and if anything, the audience seemed more appreciative than anything.

 _"Let me jam you, oh whine all around me, you got me going crazy you, turn me on, turn me on..."_  
  
And eventually, Craig grew to hate time, as it stops for no one, and as the song faded, Craig felt almost...cheated that the song was over.

And he watched as the blond dancer flashed eyes at the audience in appreciation for a moment, before turning to leave through the stage doorway.  
  
And then cobalt met his eyes as the dancer turned. And a considering expression sat on the features, in the eyes, on the eyelashes, in the poised, slightly parted, gloss-slick lips. And then lips closed, and curved into a smile, and the dancer winked.  
  
At him.  
  
And then left. _  
_  
And as the standard music kicked back into play once more, Craig felt as though the gossamer webs of a spell weaved were snapping as he moved to pick up his glass. Fantasy cracked and smashed, leaving only reality through the empty space where the pieces had been.  
  
He made an attempt to finish his drink, noting that he’d left the ice to melt, and now it was watery.  
  
“You were totally into Prada through that whole dance. He's pretty good looking, right?”  
  
Craig honestly wished he had the natural composure to take a comment like that and not start coughing midway through finishing his drink. He really did. But he supposed that would mean he wasn’t currently an awkward idiot.  
  
So he did indeed cough and choke at the question, but thankfully, the person who had spoken let him recover without any annoyances, such as hitting his back (because when does that _actually_ help?)  
  
And with any sense of decorum dashed, he held the back of his hand up to stop any smaller stray coughs as he observed who had joined him.  
  
The guy Tweek had pointed out from earlier.

Truckman or something. He stood there, offering a smirk that Craig could only note was very different in comparison to the one he’d most recently seen.

This one was...conniving.  
  
“Strippers probably make good money if they’re good looking.” Craig commented offhandedly, noting the cocktail held by the brunet.  
  
Why that mattered, he didn’t know. Perhaps the writer in his mind, narrating his life was pointlessly over embellishing.

Maybe he was just drunk and nothing much made sense at this stage.   
  
And despite Craig’s hopes that the brunet would leave, he instead helped himself to a bar seat.  
  
“So, you’re Donovan’s best buddy. Not exactly been...social this evening.”  
  
“It’s a strip club. Pretty sure most people are busy either watching, or…”  
  
“...or?” His unwanted companion pressed.  
  
“...Or they’re asking strippers to marry them.” Craig finished, having noticed Clyde across the room, leaving the private area of the club.  
  
“Well I’m sure Prada would be very flattered...but-”  
  
“What? No, not me. Clyde.” And he gestured towards where Clyde was morosely making his way over. The brunet widened his eyes.  
  
“Clyde did?” And he started laughing, not stopping even when Clyde had approached their area.  
  
“Craig, you remember that thing you told me not to do?”  
  
“...You did it didn’t you?”

  
“She said no. She was really nice about it, gave me her number in case I ever wanted another dance.”  
  
“Pfft, she just wants your money.”  
  
  
“Shut up Cartman, you don’t know shit.” Clyde replied hotly, green eyes blazing with anger, and a touch of embarrassment.  
  
Cartman shrugged.  
  
“I come here more than you do. I know some of the strippers outside of work. How do you think we got in without queueing? I grew up with Red, and trust me, she is not into you. She’s into your money.”  
  
“Red? That’s her name?”  
  
“Yeah. You didn’t think Montana was her real name, did ya?”  
  
“...Isn’t it a breach of confidentiality to tell people their real names?” Craig asked.  
  
“Like you wouldn’t _love_ to know Prada’s real name. And I totally know it.”  
  
Clyde perked up slightly at this.  
  
“Who’s Prada?”  
  
“No one.”  
  
“One of the strippers that works here. Craig here was ogling him throughout his whole dance.”  
  
Craig wanted to argue against the statement. But...he supposed it was true...

Just, it sounded so...lewd the way Cartman put it.  
  
Clyde was still registering this information, and Craig was deliberating the merits of escaping before it did register, and Clyde, as he was wont to do, overreacted.  
  
“Craig! My dude! Do you have the HOTs for one of the strippers??”  
  
Too late.  
  
“Which one? Point them out.” Clyde looked around eagerly.  
  
“Not here. In the back.”  
  
“Dude! You should totally buy a dance!”  
  
Craig froze.  
  
“No way in hell.” He replied shortly.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Craig didn’t want to answer that. It sounded...stupid that he was almost..afraid to meet the fantasy up close. Behind the stripper was a person with their own ways, personality, quirks. And it felt...weird to talk to someone, do...things with someone who was made up.  
  
Maybe he was a prude. He definitely felt like one.   
  
“Because.” And he left it at that.  
  
“Dude! You should though! I’m gonna -”  
  
“You’re not gonna do shit.” Craig interrupted.  
  
And Clyde huffed.  
  
“Fine. But you SHOULD go!”  
  
And as people came and went, and he initiated the subtle but irritating art of small talk with each and every one, he noted that Prada swept the room, greeting regular patrons, sometimes leaving towards the private rooms with a person in tow.

And Craig told himself not to watch. But he found his gaze wandering every time his mind did.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
When he eventually stepped through to the back rooms, Craig hadn’t thought it would be by invitation.

That wasn’t how private dances worked. But that was the message he’d been given by one of the group. It was the redhead male who was engaged, (whose name he’d forgotten once again).  
  
And it hadn’t been much of a conversation.  
  
“Prada wants to see you. In the back rooms.”  
  
That had been it.  
  
And the decor focused on heavy, plush curtains, and a wide L shaped sofa that spread the length of the room. And it was there, under the dim, purple tinted lights, that Prada sat waiting for him.  
  
“I was hoping you’d come to say hi.Thought I’d take the initiative in the end.” And he stretched, as if he’d been waiting far too long, and his poor body needed release. Except, his top rode up as he did so, and the display of defined hipbones, low riding jeans, and a lithe, slightly tanned navel area meant that Prada was well aware that he had Craig’s undivided attention.  
  
And Prada, moving in a feline manner, sat up, and leaned back, a similar, considering look on his features as he once again looked Craig up and down. And if his gaze was anything sharper and relating closer to claw-like, Craig was convinced he would have been torn to shreds.  
  
“Although I maaaybe left it pretty late, I’m off duty now...” The tone was teasing more than regretful, and Craig couldn’t quite align those two opposing states.  
  
Yeah, he’d spent most of the night avoiding the idea, before he’d eventually given in to the idea, reasoning that he wouldn’t get a chance to see him again, and that he wanted just one more experience. It made sense. And he’d been invited after all.  
  
“Please, take a seat.”  
  
Feeling slightly cornered, Craig did as was asked, which seemed to please Prada.  
  
Why did it feel like a trap had been sprung?  
  
  
“Did you know...at this club, there’s a very strict no touching policy?” Prada spoke delicately, lightly, as if conversing about nothing more intriguing than the weather.  
  
“I assumed that was the case.”  
  
And he didn’t move even an inch as Prada slowly moved his way over to him, standing for a moment, simply...looking down. Before _sliding_ down, knees sat snugly either side of Craig’s thighs, quite comfortably straddling him, almost definitely ensuring that Craig had felt the...pressure and momentary friction that occurred from the movement.  
  
Prada was an expert in this after all. He knew exactly what he was doing.  
  
And it elicited a predictable physical response that caused Prada to lean in, the movement slightly exaggerated with a firm roll of the hips, biting ever so gently at Craig’s ear, before slowly licking at the spot almost as if in apology, continuing along the shell of the ear, following the curve down to the lobe, where he returned to biting gently.   
  
“You don’t mind if I sit here while we...talk, do you?” His tone was wicked in its velvety murmur.  
  
Craig, (who would have said anything at that stage as long as it didn’t interrupt any of the current activity), was thankful that Prada didn’t seem to expect nor wait for an answer, as he looped both hands gently around Craig’s neck, once again taking advantage of the need to shift position to gyrate.  
  
It felt like the cruelest kind of game. And one Prada clearly got off on. 

  
Prada pulled back slightly from oral minutrations to focus on meeting Craig’s gaze.  
  
“...Tell me, if you could have anything right now, what would you ask for?”  
  
How could he even answer that?  
  
And Prada’s lips twitched in amusement. Clearly he could see that the question had stumped him, mostly because of a current..predicament robbing him of any sort of sensible reasoning.  
  
And Prada...was entertained by the notion. He could see it in the way he smiled, in the way that amused eyes visually revelled in the fact. Prada had a teasing, sadistic side. He liked to play with his food.  
  
And that revelation emboldened Craig. Two could play at this game.  
  
“You.”  
  
“Me what?”  
  
“You said anything right? I’d want you.”  
  
The smile took on an enigmatic slant, and Craig found himself once more, unsure of where it was safe to step verbally. It was a game where he wasn’t quite sure of the rules.  
  
And he wasn’t sure what game they were playing. Nor who was winning.  
  
“And what if I said you could have me? What would you ask for, hmm?” Prada spoke the words as if each one had a different flavour to the ones before, testing the flavours of the sentence on his tongue, the slow, almost drawl like manner like a string pulled taut slowly.  
  
“I’d ask if I was getting Prada, or whoever Prada is when outside this club.”  
  
And for a moment, the haze, the heady fog cleared, as Prada let out a startled laugh, that clearly hadn’t been part of the plan, nor the performance.  
  
And Craig was surprised that he found that oddly more charming than anything that had happened so far. Because the laugh wasn’t one of performance. It wasn’t a husky or a seductive laugh. The intention hadn’t been to lend itself to this odd battle of wits. No, it had been a laugh from the person under the mask.  
  
“Why would you want anything but Prada? You could have _anything_ from Prada. And I saw the way you looked at me...the way you watched me....the way you wanted me...and that you still want me....”  
  
Prada refused to give him permission to touch. Close proximity? Abused. But anything tactile? Neglected. And it felt like part of the whole...game they were currently playing. As if Prada wasn’t willing to relinquish that just yet.  
  
The probability of it was there. Just….not yet.  
  
“You didn’t have that...look in your eyes for anyone but the person on the stage. For Prada. Why have reality when you can just maintain the fantasy?”

And Prada gave a quiet laugh, seemingly idly, but very intendedly running fingers up the back of his neck, using the flat edge of his nails rather than the sharp.  
  
“...You’re right.”  
  
And Prada preened at the point conceded. And leaned in, so that he could ever so slightly press the lightest touch of lips against the very corner of Craig’s mouth.  
  
And Prada perhaps knew that Craig recognised what they were playing now, for the lack of reciprocation to the action only seemed to incite anticipation and challenge in Prada’s gaze. And a well executed, utterly unneeded, and heavily exaggerated ‘stretch’, served to remind Craig just who was in control of this situation.  
  
“So...back to our original conversation topic...?” Prada gently teased and tugged vocally at the syllables, almost singsong in delivery.  
  
  
And Craig had a decision to make.  
  
....It would be so damn easy to just let go, and take everything that was so obviously being offered.  
  
And maybe his dogged pursuit of another route would lead him to a dead end. It probably would. But this way felt oddly….empty. And he could still hear the laugh.

Of all the laughs he’d catalogued, that one stuck out. And even if Pandora’s box had been accidentally opened with that laugh, Craig found that he was doomed to want to peek again. To prod until the box opened.  
  
Or locked for good.  
  
He could lean forward, and take the deal the devil in front of him offered him.  
  
But he leaned back.  
  
And his newly discovered desire cursed him for the decision. And once again, he caught the slightest hint of the person underneath the act.

The oddly..curious and bemused look. The slightest slivers of surprise, disguising themselves as blue and attempting to hide in his eyes. But the shade of surprise didn’t match in the same way mischief, sadism and entertainment had.  
  
And Craig looked at Prada, at how easy it would be. He could still change his mind. Could persuade him to wrap his legs around his waist instead of wasting such a movement on something as unappreciative as a pole.  
  
And later on, when alone in his bed, picturing how differently this could have gone, he would probably regret it.  
  
But he stuck fast to his decision.  
  
“I saw someone on that stage I liked a lot. And I saw them again just now. I don’t think it was Prada though.”  
  
There was silence for a moment, where they simply looked at one another. Where the shades of surprise seemed to freeze into a pale blue shade of...something Craig couldn’t identify.  
  
And then Prada breathed out a “Huh…”. His eyes now trying to...figure out something.  
  
“What’s your name?” He eventually asked.  
  
“Craig. Yours?”  
  
Prada gave a mischievous smile. 

  
“You already know mine.”  
  
Craig huffed out a laugh.  
  
“Worth a try.”  
  
“Well...if that’s your decision. I guess I’ve kept you from your friends, right?”  
  
And Prada gently removed himself from his seated position.  
  
Craig nodded, partly cursing himself. Yeah, he supposed he’d blown that one.  
  
“If you change your mind…”  
  
Oh, he wished he could. But he was all in now.  
  
“You’re an amazing dancer.” was all Craig said, before turning to leave.  
  
And he took one last look at ‘Prada’. And noted that Prada was watching him carefully, once again doing that...thing with his lower lip between teeth, alternating between biting and sucking the already abused skin.  
  
And gathering the last remnants of his self control and restraint, Craig left before he did a one eighty on the situation.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
A few of the group remained now. Stan, Kyle, Cartman, Leo, Clyde and Craig himself being amongst them. Honestly, at this stage in his evening. Craig just wanted to go home, press the random button on Netflix, and let it play as he rewound the evening in his head.  
  
He supposed he could have left sooner, but he had to travel back with Clyde anyway. And Clyde was completely smashed. Craig himself was trying to ignore Clyde, who was telling him a very long tale about when Token had done something or other.

He wasn’t really listening.

Kyle and Stan were tucked away at the corner of the bar, making out quite fervently. The music had stopped, and had been silenced for a while now, as the bar ‘encouraged’ the stragglers to leave.  
  
He sighed. He shouldn’t have come out tonight. Life was so much simpler before **34+35**.  
  
And it was as Clyde was dozing on the bar, that someone sat on the seat next to Craig’s, gesturing to the barkeeper, who had already called for last orders, but complied with the request regardless, making his way down the bar towards them.  
  
Craig was irked. All the seats, and some rando chose to sit right next to him.  
  
And Cartman blinked through his own drunken haze at the newcomer.  
  
“Hey Kinny.”  
  
Craig frowned. What the fuck was a ‘kinny’?  
  
And Stan and Kyle pulled away from each other momentarily at the tone.  
  
“Hey dude.”  
  
  
“What’s up?"  
  
Craig did not look over. He was not in the mood for meeting any more of this group’s ‘friends’. He was done with nightlife for good.  
  
There was a _laugh_ , and then...  
  
“Boy, you really _love_ to keep me waiting Craig, don’t you?”  
  
And Craig turned to face the person sitting next to him. And a blond sat there, with a crooked smile that was familiar, but different to the one he’d watched tonight.  
  
The clothes were no longer revealing, but were casual and comfortable looking. And a trainer, controlled by its owner, poked at his leg.  
  
The pose was no longer any kind of seductive, but relaxed, arms lightly folded. No glitter, no gold, no stage lights.  
  
Just freshly washed blond hair that hadn’t quite dried, and stuck up at the back slightly, a white t-shirt, blue jeans. Slightly red arms that had been scrubbed to remove glitter. Chapped lips.  
  
“Cinderella to rags after midnight.” the blond quipped. Even the speech and tone, no longer seductive, but light hearted and cheerful.  
  
Some things overlapped. The mischief. The blond was clearly enjoying his reaction. So, still slightly sadistic.  
  
And the blond leaned on the bar with an elbow.  
  
“Yanno...I think you’re the first guy that’s _ever_ turned me down. It’s hilarious really. All the other people that were just business? No issue. First guy I’m into and willing to give anything to? Fucking rejected. Sod’s law I guess.”  
  
And the bartender arrived, taking the blond’s order. Giving Craig time to process...this.  
  
“I never rejected you.” Craig finally said, after the bartender had come and gone, leaving two glasses, liquid poison and ice for the two of them.   
  
The blond quietly scoffed at the remark, wordlessly clinking his held glass against Craig’s before taking a mouthful.  
  
“I didn’t. I rejected Prada.”  
  
“...Why?”  
  
There were no more power games here, so instead of answering, Craig asked one of his own.  
  
“Do I get your name now?”  
  
And the blond rolled his eyes.  
  
“Sure. Why not at this stage? Not like Prada was working out for me. It’s Kenny. Student by day, stripper by night. I’d give you my card, but you don’t seem to like my evening side.”  
  
Craig wanted to smile, but refrained. Kenny was sore as hell over this. The tables had turned.  
  
“You said no touching allowed policy, right?”  
  
“Well yeah...but that’s for work, I’m off duty.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
And Craig leaned in and kissed him. Because at this stage, there was either something there, or he was back at square one.  
  
And when Kenny didn’t protest, and more importantly, reciprocated, he took the opportunity to bite at the damn enticing lip that the blond had teased him with all evening.  
  
And Kenny laughed as they pulled away, looked less...irked, and a little more...pleased with himself.  
  
“So...you _are_ into me.”  
  
“Never said I wasn’t.” he replied simply. Kenny shook his head, a smile on his face.  
  
“Well, I’m off duty, but pretty sure I owe you a happy ending of sorts.”  
  
“I never paid to start with.”  
  
“Craig.”

  
“Yup?”  
  
Exasperated laughter.  
  
“Just...fucking let me finish what I started, okay?”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Kenny works as a strip-teaser and one night Craig enters the strip-club where he works and Craig is immediately interested in Kenny, who can also give him a lap dance.
> 
> ***
> 
> I do wonder if Scott would've had a chance with Craig...As a Crenny writer, answer is Heelll nooo, but as a general writer, I wonder...


	6. Like & Subscribe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 6. Summary of chapter, as always will be at the end (to avoid spoilers). This was requested as a prompt by Anonymous (Tumblr). Hope it’s as you were expecting <3
> 
> As always lovely people, let me know your thoughts!

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##  **  
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_  
__Story Song: JT Music - Five More Nights_ _  
  
  
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* * *

  
  
“Look. I know you don't wanna do it, but I think this will be really good for the channel. You know that Twitch streaming is really popular right now…"  
  


"I hate this. I hate Twitchers. And I hate that you're making me do this."

Wendy sighed. Working for the channel was one of the things that she loved doing. Being paid to help manage a popular YouTube channel would seem like a dream come true to a lot of people. And most of the time, it was.  
  


On days like this though, she felt as if she'd wished she'd just stayed in bed. And by 'days like this', she meant 'days where she tried, once again to explain to Craig Tucker why collaboration and working alongside Twitch streamers was a good thing for the channel'. Despite his dislike of the medium.  
  
  


And God it was difficult sometimes. Seven years ago, when Craig was seventeen, he'd started the channel, by himself. Back then he didn't have the staff they had now, didn't have the backing, the partnership. 

It was just him, a PVR recorder, a game console and pc, and cheap video editing. And back then, when things were simpler, when it was just a simple hobby, Craig had the luxury of free rein on the channel. But now, things were very different. Streaming was popular. Most major Youtubers had migrated partly over to there, and a lot of big names were rising on the platform. 

True, not all big names streamed. Some focused on YouTube alone. And Craig was one of those. He liked the process; recording, editing, uploading. He liked being able to tweak and change. And live streaming...well that wasn’t really a medium that allowed for that. 

But it was her _job_ to get exposure and numbers. To rack up interest. To keep Craig relevant. He didn’t need to edit or do his own public relations anymore. He wasn’t just a person recording themselves playing video games, he was the face of a brand now, and he needed to stop acting like he wasn’t. 

She sighed, blowing her hair out of her face in frustration. She cared about Craig. Hell, they’d grown up together, but he could be such an... _ass_ sometimes. She was sure that he was purposefully obtrusive to what was needed. 

“Please Craig. Their team is thinking of signing with CircuitBored Media, and they’re visiting LA for the week while they negotiate terms, and they’ve agreed to do a collaboration over the weekend. It’s a great opportunity. For both sides. You have the numbers and the reputation, they’ve got the ‘up and coming’ and ‘fresh and now’. It’s a match made in heaven.”

“Like that blogger streamer? She wasn’t actually a gamer. She was telling some of us that she did it for the views.” Token spoke up from the corner of the room, where he was currently aligning audio to video. Gary was passed out on the beanbag in the corner of the room, having announced he was taking a ‘power nap’ after staying up all night editing. It had been a busy couple of weeks, and they were playing catch up a little. 

“Thank you Token, you’re being very _helpful_ right now.” 

“Anytime Wends.” He replied with an enigmatic smile as he turned back to the dual monitor set-up. 

Wendy pulled out one of the chairs to sit in. Craig was focusing on trimming footage and didn’t notice she sat next to him until she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Please? You get the final say at the end of the day, but I know it’ll be good for the channel.”

He paused the footage, glancing at her, and then sighing. 

“Fine. As long as it’s not another ‘Bebe’ scenario. She wasted our time.”

“Oh, it won’t be. This one is a gamer. Only streams games.”

“And I get to pick the game.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind that.”

They were interrupted as Jimmy bust through the door. 

“So, great news. As we know, 7 Nights at Phasmas is out on Monday, but the game devs are letting us have it the Friday before. Sounds like there’s a small group of youtubers getting it early, and we’re o-on-o-one of them.”

And Wendy watched as Craig’s eyes lit up. 

“Toke, how soon will the Twilight Marsh footage be done?”

“Gimme a couple of hours, and I can chuck it across for final checks.”

“Thumbnails?”

“Gary did em.”

“Perfect.” And Craig looked to Wendy. 

“We’ll be streaming that. The new game.”

“Craig. That’s a horror game.”

“Yup.”

“Isn’t it a little...I dunno...mean to ask someone to livestream a horror game?”

“You said I could pick. And we need footage of that out before it hits the Steam store for everyone. This way we hit two birds with one stone.”

Wendy pursed her lips in disapproval. This was two birds with one stone alright. It had better not be because he wanted to frighten off this streamer early so they could record the rest of the game uninterrupted. 

“Fine. I’ll let them know.” She replied tersely, standing, and throwing Token a glare for good measure, before leaving the room. 

Once gone, Token sighed. 

“Dammit, she hates me man.”

Craig without looking away from the monitor screen, nodded absentmindedly. 

“Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Token responded sardonically. 

“Just ask her out.”

“I can’t. She’s always so...busy, and capable. She thinks I get in her way.”

“That’s because your flirting always ends up being disguised as teasing.” Jimmy chipped in helpfully, helping himself to one of the Mountain Dew cans that sat on the desk, sliding carefully into the chair, before leaning his crutches to the side, against the wall. 

“I’m a little too old to be at the hair pulling stage Jim.”

“And yet here we are, your terrific audience, watching you verbally hair pull.”

“He’s right.” Craig commented, the tab pull hiss making him aware of his own desire for one, reaching past Jimmy’s arm to the remaining pile. 

“You do not get to be involved in adult conversations regarding dating when your brain is 90% focused on whether you need a transition for that scene.” Token replied archly.

“You think it’s a good idea?” Craig glanced back at the screen thoughtfully, not even defending himself from the accusation. He was always in work mode. Token knew he didnt actually play games for fun anymore. 

“Craig, maybe it’s not the worst idea to do this streaming collaboration. I mean, it’ll be their end focusing on the streaming.”

“We’ll still need to stream it from our end too so we can edit it and get it up.” Was all Craig said. He stood for a moment. 

“Gonna stretch my legs. If Gary wakes up, tell him episode 3 is done.” And Craig left the room. 

Token glanced at Jimmy, who had opened a bag of chips. He raised both eyebrows at Token. 

“I know what you’re gonna say.”

“He hasn’t taken a break since…”

Token didn’t finish the sentence, but they both knew. 

Since Tweek and he broke up. Four years ago. 

Craig had originally met Tweek, a fellow gamer at a gaming expo, one of the smaller ones. And they used to play new multiplayer and co-op games. And one day, Craig suggested that Youtubing would be cool to do together.

That...was probably the last time Token remembered Craig actually looking like he was enjoying playing a game. 

* * *

“Oh fuuuck. Okay okay. So, if we go this way, we...probably won’t die. Stick with me people, I’m going in!”

Clyde was just getting off the phone outside the room and could hear the muffled shout from here. Not that he’d go in during recording. He’d been planning to grab lunch and had wanted to ask if Kenny wanted anything, but he’d been delayed by the phone call, and now, it wasn’t an option anymore. Ah well, Kenny would eat anything. 

And as he walked, a person left the kitchen, and fell into step with him. 

“So?” Henrietta asked. He sighed, glancing at what he’d jokingly called her ‘apple’ coloured pixie cut hair (Which she had punched him in the arm for). 

“You want the good news or the bad news?” He sighed.

“Which one would I wanna hear first?”

“You eaten?”

“No. You going now?”

“Yeah. I really want Taco Bell. Like, so bad.”

Henrietta’s lips twitched. 

“I thought you ‘d been put off Mexican food after last Friday’s fiasco.”

“Can’t hold me back from tacos Hen.”

“Clyde, how many fucking times do I have to tell you. Don’t call me Hen, it makes me sound like some kind of...chicken.”

“Well what else am I supposed to call you? Your name is long.”

“Not Hen.”

“Etta?” He offered. 

“Ugh”

“..Ri?” He tried. She rolled her eyes, and he threw up his hands. 

“You’re impossible.”

“You love me for it.”

Yeah. Yeah he really did. But she was just joking about it. And he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself by even bringing it up, like ever. Instead, he leaned over his desk, fishing in his jacket for his keys and pass, and after they had stepped out into the mild spring weather, she poked him in the cheek, and he mockingly snapped at her finger, as if meaning to bite it.

“So, what was the news? Good first.”

“Well, they agreed.”

“That’s pretty great news. Big name like that will do wonders.”

“Yeah...there’s a problem though. Apparently Creldspar said yes, but he’s picked the game.”

“I don’t see Kenny having a problem with that.”

Clyde grimaced. 

“Hen, you remember when someone gifted Kenny Outlast?”

She cringed. 

“Well, the footage got a lot of views. And he did finish it.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t the streaming itself. That was comedy gold. It...Hen, Kenny HATES horror games. They freak him the hell out. It’s why he doesn’t stream them.”

“And that’s a problem because-oh shit….don’t tell me.”

“Creldspar started as a horror game Youtuber. It makes sense.”

Henrietta sucked in a breath. 

“Shotgun not telling him!” She quickly said on exhale. 

“Dammit. I don’t wanna tell him.”

“He’s not gonna bite your head off over it. It’s _Kenny.”_

“Exactly! If he was an asshole, I wouldn’t feel so bad about it. But he’s gonna be all nice, but secretly freak out about it.”

“Maybe this is good for him? Plus, he won’t be playing it alone right? Creldspar will be there. And he knows how to play those kinda games.”

“Yeah…” 

“Clyde. Do you HAVE to tell him?”

He glanced to her, confusion on his expression. 

“Well, yeah. I think he should probably know that he’ll be streaming, right?”

“Not that you dolt!” And she elbowed him. 

“I mean, tell him that they said yes, sure. Tell him that they’re picking the game. And _don’t tell him anything else._ ”

“Isn’t that..I dunno...mean?”

“Is it? I’d say it’s kinder. We both know he’s gonna do it. Why tell him, and have him worry about it all week? He’s gonna be fucking scared during streaming either way. At least this way, he’s not fretting and panicking. And after the weekend, well it’ll all be over.”

He mulled over the words for a moment as they stepped through the sliding doors into Taco Bell. 

“That...isn’t actually a bad idea. It’s kind of like...protecting him.”

“Exactly. And we both love him, but he is a fucking wuss when it comes to horror. He refuses to come to see anything mildly horrific at the cinema. And remember when we sat down to watch the IT remake? Trust me Clyde, this is a lot better.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

“We...make a pretty good team.” 

“Damn straight we do. Team Bigavan.”

“Team Donoggle?”

“Team Bonovan.”

“Team Diggle.”

And that last one broke Henrietta. 

“Clyde. If we ever get married, promise me we won’t go with Diggle. Fucking Henrietta DIGGLE.”

And again, she was joking. But Clyde kinda wished she wasn’t. 

* * *

“Craig. They’re here. Please, and I say this as your childhood friend, and one of your close adult friends. Do NOT be an asshole.”

Craig sighed. Wendy always fretted before a meeting. Not in a headless chicken way. More in a…’oh god Craig needs fixing so we can keep his reputation intact’ kind of way. And it was annoying.

“And don’t glare. You already have an unfriendly face, at least try and look like you don’t hate them.”

...It was probably necessary as well. Plus, he liked that Wendy didn’t pander to him. She was a level of bluntness that he respected. Even if she was probably overreacting just a little bit. 

It wasn’t like they were meeting a princess or anything, just a popular streamer. 

Ugh, streamers. 

He considered streaming lazy. You sit, record, and done. There was no real...production to the process. And yet people seemed to love it. 

“Okay, so, the company is being really nice and letting them stay here, so I’m gonna help them get settled in, unpacked, and the four of you-“ And she pointed to each of them in turn “-are going to be here, and relaxing and looking friendly. Not editing, not ‘just gotta check one thing’-ing, not replying to trolls on the videos _._ Got it?”

“Yup.”

“Yes m’am.”

“Sir yessir!”

“Got it Wendy.”

And she looked at each of them warnings, before leaving the room. And almost immediately, Craig swivelled in his chair, continuing to work on editing.

“Craig, dude, playing with fire here…” Gary commented idly as he stretched out on the beanbag. 

“She’s gonna be gone a while.” was all Craig said.

“Or she knows you very well and was just waiting for you to do this.” Wendy said from the doorway, arms folded, looking unimpressed. 

“..Fuck.”

“New plan. You THREE stay here and behave. Craig. Come and help me greet them.”

“..God dammit…”

And Craig was reluctantly led from the sanctuary of the editing suite, through the building, towards the direction of the lobby of CircuitBored Media. 

The partnership company was large, well known, and offered perks to influencers signed with them. Youtubers, Streamers, Instagramers, any modern tech entertainers. 

Once upon a time, Craig had used it simply for the media and editing suites they had on offer. Back when there was a point to going home, when there was anything worth going home to. These days, it was all work. And he was here so much now, it had made sense to rent out one of the apartments on the higher levels. 

It was a clever solution. Offer enough amenities, and influencers would work more, or in his case, all the time. He knew what they were doing, but didn’t care. He wanted to work all the time. 

And as they got in the lift to head to the bottom floor, Wendy appraised him. 

“You haven’t been eating.”

He shrugged. 

“Craig…”

“Wendy, you’re my manager, not my mom.”

“So you’re saying you want me to let Laura know that you’re not looking after yourself so _she_ can tell you instead of me?”

“...I’m fine. It’s been a busy few..”

“Years?” Wendy offered. 

“Yeah.”

“You know I worry because I care right? The last time I saw you outside of this building was…”

“It’s fine. After this is done. I’ll...take a break or something.” Anything to stop her following that road to its destination. 

She nodded, before sighing. 

“I hope this all goes well. After the fiasco last time, I really need to make sure it does.”

“You’re doing fine. Don’t worry so much.”

“This is a big opportunity for both sides. It’s important it goes off without a hitch.”

“Wendy. It’s a streaming weekend, not a marriage meeting.”

“I know that! It’s just…”

And he knew what it was. Because Wendy had worked in CircuitBored Media for a while. She knew the ins and outs, the trends, the crazes. She followed all of it. And she worked tirelessly to keep their small team relevant, on top, trending. And that took a lot of work. These sort of events, they were important.

And he’d probably care a lot more, if he didn’t hate streaming so much. But he didn’t really have much of a choice at this stage. He...would eventually have to at the very least do a combination. And this was a good opportunity to see just how a gamer streamer did things. 

“That’s them over there.” Wendy said as the two of them approached the very small party that consisted of two people. 

“Best behaviour Craig. No asshole mode.”

And they were in front of the two standing there. The tall brunet, recognising Wendy, stepped forward, a direct and harsh contrast in appearance to Wendy’s own outfit. She was dressed for business, whereas the brunet that shook her hand was entirely casual in his look. 

“Clyde Dovovan?”

“That’s me. And you’re Wendy Testaburger?”

She nodded, and gestured. 

“This is Craig Tucker. Aka, Creldspar.”

And Clyde turned to him, and Craig offered a ‘smile’. A ‘recording video’ smile. A slightly strained smile. And it seemed to work, as Clyde returned the gesture warmly.  
  
“Nice to meet the legend himself. Big fan.”  
  
“Thanks. Appreciate it.” Craig replied, having long since rehearsed ‘acceptable’ and ‘professional’ replies 

He then took in the only other remaining person.

Who was currently knelt on the floor, rifling through his bag. 

There were tiny clues that the person was a gamer. The Minecraft spider keychain hanging from his bag, the obscure reference graphic T-shirt.

And the blond, despite the look Clyde was giving him, was unaware of the current interaction, still busy on the floor, digging in his bag for something, keychain swinging wildly back and forth. It was only when Clyde nudged him with the tip of his shoe that the blond looked up. 

  
  


* * *

Fuck, where was his phone? He had better not have left it on the plane, because-oh, thank god.

Just as he wrapped fingers around the device, he felt a nudge on the space where the ripped part of his jeans showed bare knee. And he looked up at Clyde, who gestured over to their left. 

Oh shit, they were here.

Hurriedly, he stood, eying the two in front of him. 

It was really obvious who Creldspar was. Everyone knew him. He was an internet sensation. 

Kenny didn’t know too much about him. A gamer Youtuber, has released everyday for the past seven years religiously. He was mostly known for his work ethic, and his high standards. 

And he didn’t stream. Ever. Even when collaborating with people, he wouldn’t ever livestream to his own channel. He’d later put up edited videos of the collab. 

He wasn’t quite sure how to react to this ‘larger than life’ person. Honestly, when the opportunity had come, Kenny had been surprised. Even if you didn’t watch his work, Creldspar was a well known name and face among gamers and gaming channels. 

It was kinda..weird seeing him here, in the flesh.

Clyde put an arm around him just then. 

“This is Kenny. Our streamer.”

And Kenny offered a relaxed grin.

“Nice to meet you. Looking forward to working together.”

And after a silence, Craig spoke. 

“...Likewise.” 

* * *

“So, we’ll record upstairs. It’s more comfortable, if that suits?”

“That should be fine.”

Clyde and Wendy had pulled ahead slightly and were already discussing terms and layout. Leaving him alone with Kenny. 

Thanks Wendy. 

“So. Dying to know. How come you don’t stream?”

Craig remembered that he wasn’t allowed to be an asshole. To this younger blond...kid who clearly had no idea of professionalism. 

“I like production.”

“Like, editing and such?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s pretty cool. I always thought that kind of dedication was impressive. It takes a lot of work, right?”

“It’s a job.”

“So, you’re not gonna livestream it when we play?”

“No. We’ll edit it later.”

And Kenny kept asking questions, and Craig would dutifully answer. This...kid had so much energy. How could someone talk so much and not be exhausted? 

And usually, when Craig didn’t participate in conversation, people tended to get the message, but this guy...he seemed happy enough to fill the gaps.

And what pissed Craig off was that he didn’t..mind. Kenny was an annoying kind of chirpy and happy that no one could hate. Including himself, and despite his best efforts. And the building seemed to utterly fascinate him. 

“It’s just me, Clyde and Henrietta-ah, she’s back home-and we do everything. We’ve been a team for a while, ever since we came up with the idea. I mean, I’ve always loved video games, and I talk a lot, so it seemed perfect. And I guess I ended up kinda popular, which was cool. I like making stuff that makes people happy. What about you, what made you get into YouTube?”

Craig faltered. And then slowed. 

_“Craig, let’s play Don’t Starve. Although, imagine actually starving. Geez, the idea freaks me out.”_

_“A YouTube channel...I dunno….sounds like a lot of pressure man...are you sure? What if they hate me??”_

_“Ugh! Why can’t I..Argh! I hate this level!”_

_“...Sorry Craig...I..”_

“Craig?”

Blue eyes peered at him, head cocked in slight confusion. Craig continued walking, aware that Wendy and Clyde had stopped at the lift, and were watching the two of them. 

“...For the money. As long as you’re consistent and have a good viewer base, it’s easy to build the numbers and make a living.” He replied blandly, ignoring the way the answer tasted on his tongue. 

And before Kenny could even think of replying, Craig had moved to catch up with the other two. He was done with inane questions. 

* * *

“So, what do you think? Think you can work together?” Clyde asked Kenny as they sat on their beds. The other party had excused themselves, letting them know that they could begin streaming as soon as they’d freshened up. Which was clearly code for ‘explore and ogle the rooms’ obviously. They were pretty damn fancy, and Kenny swore that he would try that bathtub before he left. He could fit two of himself in that thing!

“Yeah...I guess...he seems a bit...cold, but we can work together...I’m kinda interested to see what he’s like when recording though. What kinda personality he has.”

‘Haven’t you watched any of the videos I sent you? They’re his videos. That should give you an idea.”

“I’ll watch em later, when I make good use of bubble bath time.”

“Kenny...you know electronics and water don’t go right?”

“It’s fine. You worry too much.”

Clyde clicked his tongue.

“You’re so haphazard.”  
  


“No I’m not”  
  


“The other day you came home drunk, took a bite out of a raw chicken breast and told me it was, and I quote ‘basically sashimi’. 

“I was fine though, right?”

“Define fine. I’ve never seen someone throw up so much so fast.”

“That was clearly the alcohol.”

“Mm hmm. And what about when you were almost run over the other day because you just HAD to change the song manually on your Spotify because you wanted to listen to a certain one, and then almost got hit by that taxi?”

“That was totally on him Clyde, I had right of way.”

“Pedestrians don’t get right of way in California Kenny. Even when they do, they don’t. And let us not forget your...odd fascination with picking up rodents and vermin.”

“They’re BASICALLY like cats and dogs Clyde! And that possum liked me I swear!”

“It tried to bite you THREE times.”

“It was just playing!”

Clyde sighed. 

“One of these days, you’re gonna get yourself killed.” 

Kenny grinned. 

“No way man, I’m immortal! I’m gonna live forever!...as soon as I figure out how to actually become immortal.”

Clyde just rolled his eyes. 

“What? Being immortal would be so fucking cool! Think of all the things you could do!”

“You’re a famous streamer, you’ve already immortalised yourself. And at 21 years old that’s not too shabby. Isn’t that enough?”

“...I’d settle for that..and a boyfriend. And some food.”

“In that order?”

“Yeah. Immortality, THEN boyfriend. No wait! That might take a while, I’ve changed my mind. Food first, then...boyfriend? THEN immortality.”

“Dude...you are such a weird person.”

Kenny ignored him, instead rifling through his luggage for his hoodie, before toeing on his trainers. 

“I’m going to check out the foodery they have here, you want anything?”

“If it’s taco shaped it’s a win.”

“And if it isn’t taco shaped?”

“Then it’s still a win and bring it to me.”

* * *

It was later in the evening when the knock came. Both Kenny and Clyde had spent the afternoon eating, lounging around, and generally talking and messing around.  
  
Kenny left their room a grand total of 7 times (Clyde had counted) in order to explore the building.  
  
Each time, he usually came back bearing gifts. Usually of a food or beverage nature, but also a shower gel at one point (“they were giving out free samples!”), and they were midway through a box of Krispy Kremes when Clyde rose from the bed to answer the door. 

A tall blond stood there, and offered a hand. 

“You’re team KenNyeTheGamerGuy, right?”

“That’s quite a mouthful, but yeah.” And Clyde extended a hand.

“Cool, I’m with team Creldspar. I’m Gregory. We’re ready for you, if you’re available…?” And Clyde glanced to where Kenny had gotten himself off the bed and now stood next to him. He gave a bright smile.

“Hey there. Yeah, we’re ready.”

Gregory offered a smile in return.

“You’re Kenny right? Love your work, I’m a bit embarrassed to say I’m quite the fan.”

“Aww thanks, that’s awesome to hear.”

“Shall we meet you there in 5 minutes?”

Gregory nodded. 

“Sounds good. It’s floor 6, room 15.” And Clyde nodded and shut the door.

And watched as Kenny, instead of getting ready, sat on the bed, yoga style. 

“Ken?”

“Clyde. That guy is super my type.” Kenny grinned. 

“What? Blond? Bit narcissistic, but okay...”

“Noooo. I like tall guys, and he was charming as hell. Reckon he’d be into dating a cute streamer like myself?”

“Tell you what, grab your gear, we’ll head upstairs, and that’ll give you a chance to find out.” 

“You make excellent logic dude.” 

* * *

  
Clyde and Wendy once again, greeted one another and began to talk shop. The room was full of...people. It was so different to his usual set up…..

Kenny stood there, feeling kind of lost, when a hand came out of nowhere, pulling him gently away from the fuss. Kenny looked over at the culprit, seeing Craig, who was pulling him along the hallway. 

“Where are we going?”

Craig looked back at Clyde and Wendy. 

“They’ll be out here working through things. We’ll be recording in a separate room. Thought you’d wanna have some time to set up your kit.”

Kenny felt silly. Well of course they weren’t going to stream in a room full of people. That would be weird. And when they reached the room, Kenny was relieved that it was empty, small and quiet. And Craig, sitting at his desk, gestured. 

“You can have the left desk.”

Kenny looked at the room. It was soundproofed, black foam covering all the walls. It had a coziness that came from the room being (surprisingly) small, compact and dark. And honestly, Kenny was kind of envious. He’d love a room like this. He was a popular streamer at the moment, but no way was he making the money for a place like this. 

Or at least, he hadn’t been. If CircuitBored Media chose to sign with them, he’d be able to stay here, work here, use the facilities. 

As long as he didn’t mess up with one of their Youtubers. 

“So, is this where you usually record?” Kenny asked, wanting to strike up conversation as he began to mentally checklist what he’d need to do. It was something he did before every stream session, and he had it down by now, but it was still comfortable to run through it. And Clyde and Henrietta would deal with any issues or set up.

“Pretty much.”

“I’m kinda surprised. I was expecting something not as...comfortable and cosy.”

When Craig raised an eyebrow, Kenny rushed to explain. 

“Like, you see all the big youtubers use massive rooms, with editing suites. And I saw the suites downstairs, and the recording studios. I’m just...surprised you went for something so…” Kenny wanted to say nice, or perfect, but that would’ve sounded weird, right?

“...I like simple. A small room like this is all that’s needed for recording.”

Kenny nodded, not quite sure where to go from there.  
  
Until he spied the pc under the desk. He, without even thinking about it, knelt down and whistled. 

“Holy shit, you have an Aurora!” 

Kenny was so busy ogling this beautiful beast of a machine, he almost jumped when Craig knelt beside him.

“You’re into pcs?”

“Dude, how could I NOT be? Look at it! What processor did you go for?”

“I9 and 128GB RAM”

“Wait, you went with 128GB RAM? Dude are you planning to run everyone else’s computer processes on it??”

“The jump was 8, 16 or 128GB. I wanted 32.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“You know the best thing about this though? The GeForce RTX 3090…Like, seriously...I think Imma swoon right now.” And Kenny turned to Craig, putting a hand on Craig’s shoulder, without even thinking about it.   
  


“I don’t think there’s a game that exists that can’t run on this baby at full specs. Although I’d love to give it a run for it’s money, see how how many mods I could load on a high end game before it crashed.”

“I think it would break the game before the PC stopped being able to handle it.”

“You...have a beautiful machine. And I am totally jealous, and one day, ONE DAY I will have something like that.”

* * *

“ONE DAY I will have something like that.”

And...Craig had to admit, he found the enthusiasm kinda endearing. And he could relate. One of his first big purchases was an ‘overkill’ gaming PC. Because when first starting out, he remembered struggling to get games to record correctly, or his PC would chug along, or overheat. He didn’t _need_ the specs he bought. 

But that wasn’t the point. 

And Kenny was still chattering to him about the specs, quick firing questions. “Can it run Metro Exodus on full specs?” “What’s it like for video rendering times?”

And he patiently answered, finding himself a little less..reluctant to do this than he had before. Kenny...seemed to love tech, and games from the sounds of things. And he could appreciate that.

“What do you use?” He asked, when Kenny had momentarily paused from his tirade of questions.

Kenny stood, reaching over to where he’d placed his laptop on the bed. 

“I know. Laptops don’t quite have the same kick for the price, but...I have to make sure it’s portable. I can’t livestream on the go otherwise.”

And Kenny placed the laptop into Craig’s lap, almost as if he was a dog that had put a stick in an owner’s lap and was waiting for approval. 

And with a glance from Kenny to the laptop, he lifted up the screen. Helpfully, the inside had stickers advertising the specs...along with a sticker of a Creeper, holding a...master sword?

Kenny, noticing his gaze, rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. 

“You know, because Link wears all green. And Creepers are all green? Ah it’s silly I know, but I couldn’t stop laughing when I first saw it.”

And Kenny reached over and tapped at the info sticker

“I5, GTX 850, 6GB RAM. Not really...impressive I know, but I usually focus on more indie games or older games anyway, so it does the job. And she does it well.”

“She?”

“Heh, yeah. I call her Karen. I uh, used to have a little sister, and her name was Karen. So I always name my laptops after her. Just a habit that stuck I guess. Anyway, I know it’s no behemoth like yours, but will it be okay with whatever we’re streaming tonight?”

Hadn’t his Manager told him what they’d be playing?

“...Yeah, it’ll be more than fine. It’s an indie game.”

“Ah, what’s the game?”

“7 Nights at Phasmas.”

And Craig had never seen an expression change so fast. Kenny now looked...nervous?

“Uh...that’s the horror one right? With the ghosts and the animatronics?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah. Yeah. Cool. Great. That’s awesome.”

Craig didn’t say anything, just watching as Kenny filled the silence with more affirmative words, whilst looking increasingly…

...freaked out?

Craig felt a foreboding sensation as he realised. 

“Are you scared of horror games?” He asked in a measured tone. Kenny’s head whipped back and forth quickly as he shook no. 

“No way man. Who’d be scared of a video game, amirite?” And Kenny laughed. 

Nervously. 

And rather than feel annoyed that he’d have to play with a scaredy cat, he found the idea...fun. 

Not in a malicious way. But it would make for great content. It was hard to be scared, seeing how many of them he played in his earlier days. He’d become desensitised. Having someone a little frightened might add a little flavour to things. 

“We should get set up, right?” Kenny changed the subject quickly. 

  
  


* * *

“Hey all you beautiful people! KenNyeTheGamerGuy here! And today, as some of you Twitter fiends may know, is a special recording, because I’m here with the amazing Creldspar! That’s right, I hear your cheers!”

Craig had to admit, Kenny was pretty magnetic when recording. He supposed it was easier to hype up the energy if you were already energetic to start with.

“Hey everyone. Creldspar here. As Kenny said, we’ll be hosting a weekend event, around the 7 Nights at Phasmas Series. We’re calling it Weekend at Crenny’s, so check out the details on Twitch, YouTube, Twitter and Facebook.”

Wendy had come up with the name. And it was dumb, but it worked. And he didn’t care what they called it. 

And already, he could see the live stream chat window fill with comments.

  
  


**_FruitSoiled_ **

_Hey Creldspar! Such a big fan!_

**_Cakesareforeating_ **

_OMG!!!! A Collab?? I’m SO IN_

**_Rezquor_ **

_Wait. Kenny you’re playing a horror game? What about Outlast_

**_Gyman_ **

_HA! I remember that! That was SO funny. You should’ve done more._

**_Felixis_ **

_CRAAAAAAAAIG <3 <£ _

**_Felixis_ **

_ <3* _

**_CrennyLover_ **

_I am SO HYPED for this game UG >IKGLJYUFYTFHG _

**_LemonYum_ **

_Wait, why is Kenny streaming with some random guy?_

**_CraigsaysYUUUS_ **

_Dude. This isn’t some ‘random guy’. It’s Creldspar!_

**_LemonYum_ **

_Idgaf who it is. Why is KENNY streaming with him?_

**_KPop-BTS_ **

_I love the idea. Although it’s gonna be interesting. Craig loves horror, Kenny hates it. LOL_

**_Simp4Ken_ **

_Keeeeennnny! Don’t die okay?_

  
  


“So, tonight, we’ll see how far we can get through the game. Wish me luck people! I’m definitely gonna need it.” And Craig listened as Kenny gave a nervous laugh...that probably wasn’t performance based. 

“And as always, like and subscribe. Just wanna say thanks to Scott ‘Kinetic’ Crawford for the early game pass.”

The games were ready, and as they booted them up and the intro sequence began, Kenny looked to him for a moment as he talked. 

They’d agreed that they’d forego cameras for tonight, so they could focus on the game, and learning the ropes/each other. 

“So...as you guys know, this is the newest game out by Scott, and he’s added a nifty co-op feature, so me and Craig can play the game and work together. Now, I’ve gotta admit, I’ve not played the earlier games in the series, so I’m going in as a newbie. Craig is probably gonna be the expert here. I’m gonna be asking lots of questions about it, so sorry to the viewers who know what's what story wise. I’ve got some catching up to do!”

“So, for Kenny’s benefit, and those out there who haven’t played it yet. You’re a security guard and a service engineer in an underground supplies and storage depot for animatronics that are shipped out to the company restaurants. One of the player’s jobs is to fix the animatronics and maintain them. The other one’s job is to patrol the perimeter and avoid anything that’s walking around that shouldn’t be. And you’re able to help each other against anything that might be out there.”

* * *

Kenny was kind of freaking out. And it wasn’t gonna be pretty when it happened. And it would. Eventually, something would jump scare him, or chase him, and he’d go into panic mode. Ugh. 

And as the game started, he realised that he was by himself. 

“Oh. So...where are you?”

“I’m….G5. On your map.”

Kenny pulled up the hub

“Be careful to not stand around looking at it too long, you might get snuck up on.”

“R..right.”

“So...I have to head to the maintenance vent-wait, VENT? Dude, why do I have to go through a vent in the dark myself?”

Craig laughed. 

“That’s what your job is. Don’t worry, I’ll head over to where you are as soon as I can. I have to distract things with noises so things stay away from you while you’re working.”

“What things?”

“You’ll see.”

* * *

“Craig...there’s something in the vent with me…”

“Whatever you do, don’t turn around. One of the animatronics likes to follow and it’ll get louder, but don’t turn around. And you’ve gotta move quick so it doesn’t catch you.”

“Ah fuckfuckfuck….okay, I’m moving and...wait..there’s lights ahead of me. They look like eyes. Oh fuck no I’m turning-“

“DON’T turn around!”

“AGGGGGGHHH!”

Laughter.

“...FUUUUUCK. What the HELL was that?! My heart…”

“I told you not to turn around.”

“There were fucking EYES in front of me. Also, why can’t I turn properly anymore?”

“So….you’ve been put in an animatronic suit.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah. See those dials on the side? Keep tapping them, keep them wound or you’ll die. I’ll come and get you.”

“Fuckfuckfuck...this shit is scary man…”

“It’s the first night.”

“And the first night is fucking scary! I’m freaking the hell out here.”

  
  


* * *

“Kenny...I’m cornered.”

“What?”

“I can’t get by. There’s two of them. I need you to sneak up behind one and deactivate it.”

“Ngh.....I hate this…...It’s gonna fucking see meeee.”

“It’s fine. Just...if it shudders, move away and stop fucking with it, or it’ll turn and go for you.”

“Great….Okay...Oh shit it’s the really scary looking one...I HATE that one.”

“Also, keep your voice down.”

“What? Why?”

“The game hears your voice and reacts to it. If you speak too loudly, the animatronics come after you.”

“WHY WOULD-“

“Shhh…”

“Why would you tell me this now and not before?? Is that why the vent thing…”

“Yup.”

“I hate you so much....Okay so...I’m deactivating-ugh, I hate this mini game, I’m shit at it.”

“Which one?”

“The pipes with liquid.”

“Just take your time.”

“It’s hard when there’s a metal skeleton shuddering-oh shit!”

“You moved away?”

“Yeah….”

“Has it stopped moving?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, it’s safe. Also, keep an eye on sounds around you, in case another animatronic turns up.”

“...”

“Did you just whimper?”

“Yes I fucking did. And I’m also trying to save you, so shush.”

“Okay, yeah, that did it. Ken, behind you!”

“Noooooooo. Seriously why won’t these things fuck off and leave me alone?? I’m just trying to earn an honest wage as an animatronics technician. Oh...no please don’t. CRAIG it’s coming closer and laughing!”

“Okay, you need to run your ass off down that corridor, it’s seen you.”

“WHyyyyyyyyy???”

“And stop screeching. It can track you by loud sounds.”

“Can’t whimper, can’t scream, ohfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck RUUUUN!”  
  
 _  
“Don’t run, I juuust wanna beeee friends. I just get...bugs...”  
  
  
_ “Why is it TALKING to me??? Ugh...isn’t this enough reason to get the FUCK OUT??”

  
“Fuck, why did you shout?”  
  
  
”Why?”  
  
  
”It speeds up.”  
  
  
”NOOOOO! Craaaaig heeelp!”  
  
  
Laughter “I can’t. And stop screaming, you’re making it worse.”  
  
  
”You’re laughing at my misfortune-CRAIG I CAN FUCKING HEAR IT!”

  
“Shut the door once you get in the room at the end.”

“Where? How??”

“There’s a button on the wall?”

“WHERE?”

“The bright fucking red one!”

“Oh Fuck oh shit oh...Phew...My heart man, I thought it was gonna kill me.”  
  
  
” _COme oooout and PLaaaay...”  
_  
  
”Listen up you fucking creepy thing...this gig ain’t for me. No amount of pay is worth THIS! Why the HELL would anyone come back more than ONE night? WHy are you playing muuuusic at meee? That’s very fucking creepy! Do you think that’ll make me be your friend? Because it won’t.”  
  
  
”So...don’t freak...but there’s a vent in that room..”  
  
  
”...”  
  
  
”Ken...are you okay?”  
  
  
  
”I’m gonna play the stream from under the desk, people.”  
  
  
  
  
Laughter.

  
  


* * *

“And that’s the end of the stream for tonight. We’ll see you guys tomorrow night for another session….You okay Kenny?”

“....No…”

“For the audience out there that can’t see, Kenny’s soul just left his body.”

“Ugh...That was so scary. Like and subscribe guys, so I can get through another one of those sessions.”

And Kenny reached forward, clicking the stop button, before collapsing back in his chair.

“Fuck….”

“You okay?”

“I...I’m a wuss with horror games.”

“I kinda figured. I think the viewers loved it though.”

Kenny gave a weak smile. 

“I guess it was kinda worth it then. And I guess, under all the horrific terror and heart attacks. That was kinda fun.”

“.....Yeah, it was.”

  
  


* * *

And Craig watched as Kenny and Clyde said their goodbyes, before heading off. Wendy sat next to Craig. 

“That was amazing. You were on form, and Kenny...he was so funny.” And she broke into giggles, and despite himself, Craig cracked a smile at the memory. 

“And you looked like you were enjoying yourself. Don’t remember the last time I heard you laugh so much. See? Not so bad, right?” And she gave him a soft smile, like a mother after finally persuading a child to take their cough medicine.

And Craig didn’t really have an argument. 

“Yeah. It was...fun.”

“And tomorrow. Facecams!”

And later that night, in bed (because Wendy had expressly forbidden any editing and told him to get some rest), he remembered one of the comments.

**_AnonAnon_ **

_Hahaha! That was such a good watch. Kenny was so scared and cute XD. But he had Craig watching out for him, AND then Kenny came and saved him. You guys work really well together. I hope you bring more content. I love you both! <3  
  
_  
  
  
Craig sat there for a moment, and then reached for his laptop. He guessed it wouldn’t hurt to just search, right?

  
And much later, Craig was asleep, his laptop next to him still autoplaying videos.  
  
  
  
 _“Oh, and then you put this in here and that...Fuck, that’s so clever.....Yeah I love this game, Imma say it. I am a true simp for this game. And that’s all we’ve got time for here. I’m KenNyeTheGamerGuy, and this was Okami, and thanks for tuning in. Catch you all next time!”  
  
_

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary:YouTube/Streamer AU
> 
> *******
> 
> I think this is one of my favourite Kenny interpretations so far. I really wanna continue this for another chapter or two.


	7. Every Breath You Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 7. Summary of chapter, as always will be at the end (to avoid spoilers). This was requested as a prompt by Killer_Queen. I hope it is a good read (I really do, as I took it dark...)
> 
> WARNING, PLEASE READ THIS: I’ve taken this prompt into a dark direction. And it may be upsetting to read, and a little frightening. It addresses some dark issues that are important to highlight. If you don’t wish to know what these are, please look away from this author’s note and take your chances. Otherwise, keep reading. 
> 
> This prompt is about stalking, and I took it in an extreme ending direction, that stalking can take. There are permanent character deaths in this one, and to be honest, it made me cry whilst writing it, so, I want you to be forewarned. It is dark, scary, there is death, and there is stalking. There is love, but it’s twisted. If you are in the mood for something cheery/or are feeling a little down, I would not recommend reading this right now, come back to it later perhaps. 
> 
> With that said, here’s the next chapter.

* * *

##  **Every Breath You Take  
  
**

* * *

_  
_ _Story Song: The Police -Every Breath You Take_ _  
  
_

* * *

  
**_“Every breath you take”_ **  
  
  
He was there again, with his friends. The same group of friends. He’d long since memorised who he mostly hung out with. The fat one tended to be the one he hung out mostly with. 

And the red head had said something to make the fat one angry, the noirette smile, and... _him_ laugh. 

His laugh was perfect. It was so unrestrained, so free. There were no worries, no agenda on that expression when he smiled. He smiled because he was happy. It was as simple as that. It was….purity, and perfection. 

Craig liked perfection. He liked when things or people were transfixed in a moment, where nothing could change their status. 

Humans were disgusting, imperfect creatures, full of slovenly habits and laziness and mistakes. Everything was an error when humans were involved. 

But occasionally….very rarely, so rare that you could breathe and blink and you’d miss it...there came a creature that was not of this world. That was born of something outside of the limits of humanity. 

And Kenny McCormick was that. He was...perfection. Despite the company he chose to keep, they could never quite marr his divinity with their unworthiness. And they didn’t see it. 

Not like he did. 

They didn’t know Kenny. 

Not like he did.   
  
  
**“Every move you make”**

Kenny had been like a project. A long burning, but highly fulfilled project. And it had been utterly worth it. 

Kenny’s weekday schedule was easy enough to figure out. He went to the local community college with his friends. And sometimes, if Craig were lucky, Kenny would skip, would go for a wander, would brave the cold of the season. 

Kenny wore winter well. His skin was perfectly suited for the cold. It was pale, almost a ghostly shade, and would redden quite easily. And Kenny had poor circulation, because Craig often saw him blowing on his hands, or rubbing them together, occasionally twisting his wrists around, or clenching and unclenching his fists.   
  
  
**“Every bond you break”**  
  


Kenny always forgot gloves. Or lost them. 

Kenny would look utterly perfect behind ice. Preserved and glassy and perfect. Like a butterfly caught beneath glass. Like a porcelain doll never taken from a glass display. It was worrying that one day, something would spoil Kenny, would break the fragility. 

Craig wanted to prevent that. 

But, he enjoyed the whims and emotions that bloomed too much. He was being too selfish, he told himself sternly. This was for Kenny after all, he should be able to do that much for him. 

But instead, the days turned into weeks into months. And he was letting his own petty addictions get in the way of what needed to be done. 

Oh, he told himself he was searching for patterns, covering every contingency, but he was human. He wasn’t like Kenny. He was a liar, a human. 

  
**“Every step you take”**  
  
  


And he feared that one day, someone would come along, and see in Kenny what he saw, what was so obvious, but no one seemed to notice. How could they not notice?

The others in the group had dressed warmly. Sensibly so. Kenny had foregone that, for a thin, threadbare hoodie, in his signature orange. The colour was faded, but Kenny loved that hoodie, he wore it everywhere. Even during these bitterly cold months, in the harsh, biting winds, and the constant snow flurries, he wore that hoodie, and nothing thicker. 

Even now, as Kenny laughed, his cheeks red and cold nipped, his breath foggy and his ears red and raw, his lips cracked (because he never remembered lip balm either) and slightly bleeding from the abrupt and zealous laughter, Craig was...bemused to how his friends beside him could only see normal, standard. How they could acknowledge the amusement, but then continue on as if something wonderful hadn’t just happened. 

And he watched as Kenny absentmindedly wiped at his lip, noting the tinge of red, before shrugging, a slight ghost of a grin still on his lips, as he lowered his hand, forgetting about the smudge of blood on his hand. 

Craig wouldn’t forget such details. He couldn’t. That red on bone white, slightly shivering hands was so...stark in contrast, Red on white. Blood on snow. 

  
**”I'll be watching you“**  
  


How did none of the group notice such a thing? Such a detail. The blond on shaking, cold hands, the slight pulsing shivers of the blond, who seem to be ignoring his own discomfort in the name of standing with his friends and talking. 

It was...stoic. To laugh in the face of pain and discomfort. It was a noble trait of the human spirit, to not only endure, but grin despite it. He was well aware of his coldness, and his shivers, but he laughed, smiled, joked, enjoyed seeing his breath on the air, tried to tuck his nose into the top of his hoodie, pulled the hood that the wind had blown down once again over his head. 

Craig knew how to stop those shivers. And he wanted to. But not yet. He had to be patient. Soon, he would give the soul respite from the cold. No need to grin and bear through the chills. 

_Soon_. He promised Kenny. 

* * *

Kenny never slept well. Perhaps it was the bright lights from the restaurants wrapped around his house, or the shouts and bangs from the room next to his. From his parents. And when Kenny stared up at his ceiling some nights, Craig watched him. Sometimes, his younger sister would come into his room, would sit, would talk. And they would both heartily ignore the arguments and banging, as Kenny would talk to his sister. 

He was never close enough to hear what was being said. He didn’t dare. It would ruin everything. He had to settle for just looking, just watching. He liked to imagine that Kenny knew how to weave fairy tales to his sister. How he would tell her of princesses and brave knights, dragons and fairies. And eventually, his sister would fall asleep, and Kenny would lie there, a hand absentmindedly stroking her hair, as he stared up at the ceiling. 

  
**“Every single day”**  
  
  


He almost never slept, and he had shadows under his eyes that always proved it. But his foolish, ignorant friends, his classmates, his teachers. No one seemed to notice this. That this embodiment of perfection was unable to even pretend it was human enough to sleep. He deserved it more than anyone, of that Craig had no doubt. 

And as he watched eyes eventually close and remain that way, just as the sun began to rise, he made another promise. 

_You’ll be able to sleep well soon._

* * *

Kenny had broken up with her. With that...mess. With that human banshee, that siren, that had somehow decided that she could stake a claim to Kenny. That kisses and long fingernails wrapped around an arm were enough to even dare to fathom that she could keep him. 

And their inevitable breaking up was utterly for the best. People didn’t deserve Kenny. No one did. It was a simple and honest truth. They didn’t have a right to him. And they didn’t have the right to make him cry. 

Kenny was slumped in front of the dumpsters that sat by his house, head bowed, eyes and nose red, tears streaming. He was mostly hidden, but not enough so that Craig couldn’t see him, could watch to see if this was the moment that the fragile perfection ever broke. 

  
**“Every word you say”**  
  
  


It was almost a fascinating and fearful game every time Craig watched. Because Kenny always got up again, and that was where the perfection lay. The day Kenny no longer picked himself back up, was the day it would break Craig’s heart. The day that all the time spent on Kenny, on watching him, on marvelling over him, would have been a waste. 

So many did that. The fantasy shown in the mirror, always looked so beautiful from afar, but when looking at the real thing being reflected, the...flaws were there, and they were ugly. The mirror that showed courage, actually revealed the cowardice, the award winning author who spun dreams for the human mind, that turned out to be a monster in actuality. The millions of mirrors in the world, that distracted from the reality with pretty reflections and shiny surfaces, hiding the true...ugliness. 

And day after day, Craig watched as the reflection of Kenny shimmered slightly after each trial, as the image, the reflection, and the real, misaligned for just a fraction of a moment. 

But then, Kenny would always pick himself up, and show that he was worthy, so worthy of the beautiful reflection that was shown. 

  
**“Every game you play“**  
  


And each shudder, tremble, each tear and shiver, would only make Kenny even more...beautiful every time the shudders and trembles stilled, when the tear tracks were wiped away with the back of a hand, not unlike the blood from a split lip. Diamonds from sapphires, and rubies from rose petals. Collected on the back of a hand. Forgotten by most. But not by him. They were...precious, if fleeting. They were signs of adversity, and of overcoming it, of casting it away to be forgotten, to be smudged away. 

And once again, Kenny would lift his head up, and would smile. It would be shaky, but it sat there, and it brought Craig relief. They hadn’t sullied him, hadn’t dragged his perfection down to their petty, dark, basic level. 

And he knew the day was close. If he didn’t make a move, they might ruin him. 

He would never let that happen. 

* * *

Kenny was happy and laughing with his friends the day after. No single sign of the heartbreak from the night before. As expected of a creature that he wasn’t entirely sure was human. And this being liked people around to be relaxed and happy, to feel joy, to not be brought down by problems of his that Kenny considered to be petty and pointless.   
  
  
**“Oh, can't you see”**

Instead, Kenny somehow managed to hide any hurt or residual pain behind a thick sheen of mischief as, despite the cold, he’d snuck up on his friend, before dousing him in cold water. And his laughter as he darted away, too fast for the enraged friend to catch, was musical, and almost sounded sung. And it wasn’t even done out of malice. Because his friend had shared woes of a breakup of his own, and had been down, and Kenny had broken the moment of sadness with trickery. 

It was as Kenny took off his hoodie and offered it as a towel as a peace offering to his friend, who took grumpily, and Kenny stood there grinning and shivering, that Craig remembered the tale of the Nightingale. 

The creature that had sung loudly and cheerfully, whilst leaning into the thorn of a white rose, so that its blood could tint the rose red. And all so a lovesick fool could offer it to a woman in exchange for a dance. And the Nightingale died to make that rose, because it believed in the purity of love, and had wanted to help the young lover.   
  
  
**“You belong to me”**

The same young lover that had tossed the rose away after being rejected by the flighty woman, rendering the entire sacrifice meaningless. 

Because to Craig, that is what humanity did. Would toss away roses of sacrifice, without realising the work, the effort that went into them. It was everywhere. The artist that slaved over frescos for years, for sometimes nothing more than a fleeting appreciative glance in return, the loyal partner who sunk many years into a relationship, who sacrificed many things, all for their partner to up and leave them when something far more convenient came along. The writer that toiled in obscurity, who starved and suffered, who was ridiculed, only to be celebrated upon their death, to have their works quoted and praised, have them made into films which made everyone else money. 

And Craig, with this realisation, decided that he could delay the inevitable no longer. He would not let Kenny bleed his heart into the rose, sacrifice everything that was good and pure about him, for some selfish human who would glance at the gesture, and dismiss it. 

The world of humans did not deserve such things. And they would not have Kenny. 

  
  
**“How my poor heart aches”**  
  


He was determined.

No one would have him.

* * *

He had considered the best way to do it. It had to be worthy, and undisturbable once done. It no longer mattered if it was traceable. It was far more important to him that it did Kenny due justice.   
  
  
**“With every step you take”**

And eventually, he had decided. It would not be one of Earth, or of Fire, or of Air. 

Kenny’s path would be of Water. Of Ice. Ice would stay, would preserve, would keep him safe and locked away forever. 

He’d waited, timed it for a Friday evening, when he knew the group would be out. It was far beyond the point of habit. 

And as expected, his friends were neglectful, too busy wrapped up in their own problems. The noirette didn’t notice, too wrapped around his dance partner, the red head didn’t notice, too busy watching the noirette with a look of forlorn and drunken desire. The fat one was distracted by the bar, talking to two women. 

  
**“Every move you make“**  
  
  


As always, Kenny had been forgotten. Everyone seemed to forget him, and he would drift into the background. And perhaps he could disappear for days, and people wouldn’t even notice. Because it had happened before, and Craig had caught the tiniest sliver of hurt, before Kenny had plastered a wide smile. Covering up the despair that no one had even noticed he was gone. 

It had broken Craig’s heart. 

And no one noticed the blond that had been outside, getting some air. No one had seen the quick motions, the unconscious body. 

No one saw, half an hour later, when the unconscious body was dragged from the car, across the frozen lake.   
  
  
**“Every smile you fake”**

And Craig looked at Kenny for a moment, felt how cool his skin was, felt the slow pulse under the fingers. The closed eyes, the shallow breathing. 

His hair was soft, if wet, and Craig thought of the world that had forgotten him. Somehow. He would be a text to friends, a query, a shrug, another drink. 

If they cared, if they were vigilant, they could have stopped him. Could have interrupted the cool press of two thumbs pressing, gently at first, but with increased pressure, ensuring it wouldn’t hurt, or leave bruises, but that it would remove the air. 

Because like a fairytale princess, Kenny deserved a gentle eternal sleep. A painless one, and one where he wasn’t marred with bruises, blood or tears. 

  
**“Every breath you take“**  
  


Because Craig loved Kenny more than anyone. He was perfection, and he deserved a gentle, kind, drifting death. He deserved to be locked under the ice, that by the time anyone would even think of the blond, would be frozen over once more. 

Blue was a tone now colouring Kenny’s face. And it looked...ethereal. He looked fey-like. Blond and blue and white. 

Although Craig regretted not seeing his eyes again, it was something he’d sacrifice, his selfish whim, so that he could give Kenny a beautiful death. 

And without a struggle, the deed was done. 

Craig had prepared. He had picked the section of ice carefully. And he had ensured that they would never be disturbed. 

Because he wouldn’t make Kenny go alone. He would be there with him, protecting him in the afterlife, in the cool, perfect water, that would preserve the perfection. 

And with a hole made, he gently pulled the body to his.  
  
  
**“Every single day“**  
  
  
  
The body that had always shivered in the cold. He would no longer feel the cold. 

He would no longer feel pain, or cry, or have to cover up with a smile.  
  
  
  
His work was done, and he could rest.   
  
  
**“My poor heart aches, with every step you take”**

And he, first checking the weighted bricks were secure to his own legs, slid into the water, holding Kenny to him.

In the ice cold murkiness that shocked him, he held him close. Maybe in another life, if he was more perfect, he could have..spoken to Kenny, had approached him. But he had not been. He’d not been worthy. No one could have been.   
  
  
Kenny looked...beautiful underwater. So peaceful. Finally, at rest. He would stay beautiful, perfect, and in Craig’s arms.

  
  
**“I feel so cold and I long for your embrace”**  
  
  
  


They would all eventually ask where Kenny was. 

  
  
But he was the only one who ever truly cared.   
  
  
  


**”I'll be watching you“  
  
  
  
  
**The only one who ever really cared.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Something a bit dark where Craig is a stalker and is obsessed with Kenny, who doesn’t even know the existence of Craig. 
> 
> This was a different angle on things. And I cried whilst writing it.  
> But, I think it’s important for a writer (or at least myself) to write tricky subjects, so thank you so much for the prompt and the opportunity to improve my writing. I appreciate you. 
> 
> I'm very torn on whether Kenny would remain dead, or just wake up after dying and be like "How the fuck did I die?". I'm leaving that up to each individual reader on how they preferred it to end in their head. 
> 
> There was also a nod to Kenny’s current role in the latest South Park in here. How he seems to have been..forgotten.


	8. Con te partirò / With You I leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 8. Summary of chapter, as always will be at the end (to avoid spoilers). This was requested as a prompt by Anonymous (tumblr).  
> I hope it is a good read <3
> 
> As always lovely people, let me know your thoughts!

* * *

##  **  
Con te partirò / With You I leave  
  
**

* * *

_  
_ _**Story Song (Original):** Andrea Bocelli - Con te Partirò _ _  
_ _  
_ _**Story Song (Craig Con te Partiro violin version):** _ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yf-HKlDZZSk_ _  
_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yf-HKlDZZSk) _**Story Song (Craig practice song 1):** _ _Franz Schubert -_ _Ave Maria_ _  
_ _**Story Song (Craig solo practice song 2):** Pachelbel - Canon _ _  
_ _**Story Song (Craig solo practice song 3):** Bach - Partita in D minor  
  
**Story Song (Kenny Con te Partiro accompaniment version):** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6COIF38or0  
**Story Song (Kenny Ave Maria accompaniment version):** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GTEa5eGAho) _ _  
_ _**Story Song (Kenny O mio babbino caro accompaniment version):** _ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XlcefiN-YYU_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XlcefiN-YYU) _)  
_ _  
  
_

* * *

  
  
A melody was carried unsteadily and unsure through the evening air, and any who might be listening would perhaps have the ear to note the lack of flow in the song. It was a recognisable song, so the trembling (and less than fluid) connection of notes was far more apparent and recognisable. And for a while, the musician continued on, before an almost impatient screech on strings interrupted the song.  
  
Craig lay his forehead against the cool window in frustration. In his hands, a violin and a bow.  
  
He knew the notes, he knew them, he just couldn’t...piece them together right! And he hated that for some bizarre and frustrating reason, this song was giving him so much trouble.  
  
Sitting at the window, he placed both feet up against the wall, effectively wedging himself into the boxed area of the window. His socked feet tapped the wall in agitation for a few moments, before his body seemed to relax.  
  
And he looked out over the city, almost cradling the violin, before he transferred the bow to his other hand for the moment, so that he could attempt to open the window. It was one that was slid upwards, and he found that it sometimes jammed, and after a small battle, and a thought that he might actually have to use both hands, the window eventually gave up the fight, and with a squeal of indignation, it slid upwards, raining the tiniest flecks of dried and peeling paint onto Craig in revenge as it did so.  
  
And he looked out over the city. London. The city where theatre and performance were well known, where the smog painted the skies in a dusky pink as the sun set. And if he were to look down, he would see the traffic, the crimson buses, the jams as congestion occurred in the main streets of london.  
  
He was lucky. He had managed to find a place close to the centre of the city that wasn’t in fact a Harry Potter cupboard sized room. The real catch was that it was less than….savoury. The residents all had very...distinctive personalities, and one of the first things Craig had done was buy a solid chain and lock for his door.  
  
It was the sacrifice you made for being in the heart and bustle of the city, close to the theatres and concert halls. And the most important thing was how close it was to where he needed to be.  
  
And he glanced at the letter he had pinned on the wall. The one he read everyday  
  
  
  
  
  
_Dear Mr Tucker_ _  
_ _  
  
_

_Thank you for your application to the role of Violinist at the London Philharmonic Orchestra_

_We would like to invite you to interview for the role with Pieter Schoeman. The interview will consist of competency based questions, and a practical performance recital._ _  
_ _  
_ _Details of this piece will be sent to you following this letter. During this time you will also be shown around the Royal Festival Hall. Please expect the process to take a day and plan accordingly for this. You will be asked to bring your own instrument. If you do not have one, one can be supplied on the day for recital purposes._ _  
_ _  
_ _If you require any travel arrangements, please let us know of this as soon as possible._ _  
_ _  
_ _We are based at the Royal Festival Hall, Southbank Centre, Belvedere Rd, South Bank, London SE1 8XX._

_Please reply to this letter directly with your availability during the following date and time options:_

_[Monday 25th August – 10:00 GMT]_

_[Wednesday 27th August – 10:00 GMT]_

_[Friday 29th August – 10:00 GMT]_ _  
  
_

_Please arrive 15 minutes early, as we will have a prompt start, due to the large volume of applicants._ _  
  
_

_We look forward to speaking with you._

_Sincerely,_

_Jeremy Drew,_

_Senior Hiring Administrator  
  
  
_

  
  


He’d been so...overwhelmed that he’d actually been given an opportunity. The London Philharmonic Orchestra. If he made it, if he was chosen from the likely hundreds of applicants, that would be his dream realised.  
  
Or it would be, had they not sent out a song that felt more like an accompaniment than a piece that stood up on its own. And it was one Craig knew, but hadn’t played much. And everytime he played it, it just sounded...wrong, and flat.  
  
It was a song that focused on the singing, and the violin would ‘carry’ the voice. But the quavering mess that he had been practicing made him...worry. His own ineptitude for one song was going to ruin this. The once in a lifetime opportunity. Orchestra positions were usually always filled, and it was hard to get a position to even come up. It was only through luck, and the help of a very good friend who had pointed out that they were looking for a violinist, that he was even given the chance to start with.  
  
And he was about to mess it up.  
  
And it wasn’t even a matter of technical skill. He had made it through _Partita No. 2_ (he wouldn’t win any awards for his rendition, but he’d gotten through it without mistake), so this shouldn’t be an issue.  
  
He knew what the problem was though. It was _heart._ _  
_ _  
_ He could play technically well. He’d practiced constantly, refining, redoing. And he was good at that. But this song, this stupid, stupid song.  
  
He’d heard it before. Who hadn’t. _Con te partirò_ was more than well known. It wasn’t even technically difficult. The problem was that the song had a _heart_ to it. If there was no emotion and feeling in the playing, any listener could tell. And Craig would be one of the first to admit that he was bad when it came to feeling and emotion with music. He’d assumed the hardest part was the technique, that once that was mastered, the rest would fall into place. But he was wrong. Nothing else had fallen into place, and he’d been stuck with technical, cold pieces.  
  
And he wasn’t the only one that noticed it. Everyone had remarked on it...in their way. And he had no idea how you were supposed to fix something like that. Music, if you broke it down, became a matter of beats, of timing, of melodies and notation, of reading music, of following along, of instrument technique.  
  
What part of any of that taught you how to inject yourself into the music? How did one take their soul and feed a sliver of it to the music?  
  
He wasn’t an idiot. He could tell the difference between two performances of the same music, and which one made you tear up, or feel something.  
  
He...just didn’t know HOW to get there.  
  
Besides, he didn’t like the song. He felt it was ‘Popera’.  
  
But that was what he’d been sent. And he’d practiced every day. He could play it in half time, in double time. But he couldn’t make it _feel._ And he’d messed around with how he played the notes, and he’d tried to wobble, or sharpen.  
  
He sighed, irritated with himself. The city opened up to him as it darkened, and he sat up slightly, lifting his violin, tucking it under his chin.  
  
He was tired of that song. He’d play something he liked for a little. And he immediately felt himself relax as the first notes of _Canon_ began to leave his room with ease. And it was easy, and fluid, and it reminded him that not all was lost. Maybe he just needed...to take a break from the song, play some of his other favourites for a while.  
  
And he relaxed fully into the flow, gliding from _Canon_ to a playful tempo of _Four Seasons_ to a fiendish _Zigeunerweisen_ to one of his favourites: _Glass - Violin Concerto No. 1._ He likened it to ebbing and flowing play, and it was an odd mix of melancholic and energetic.  
  
Eventually, he made his way to _Ave Maria,_ a song he liked to wind down on.  
  
Except a strange thing that had never, ever happened before happened.   
  
_“Ave maria, gratia plena, Maria, gratia plena”_  
  
From out of the window, someone had started singing. Which probably wouldn’t be too unusual, were it not for the fact that the singer was clearly _accompanying him._ _  
_ _  
_ And it was only Craig’s familiarity with this song that prevented him from slipping and messing up entirely.  
  
_  
_ _  
_ _“Maria, Gratia plena, dominus, tecum,"  
_ _  
_ _  
_ The voice...it was, well, beautiful. Masculine in nature, and it didn’t...stretch to be heard. It was simple, light, but..emotive.  
  
  
  
_“Ave maria, gratia plena, Maria, gratia plena”  
  
_ _  
_ _  
_ And Craig felt something. A moment where the two of them were in this world, among this city, but they had somehow...connected through this moment, because of a song.  
  
  
And he couldn’t help but smile at that idea. The song sounded so much better like this.  
_  
_ _  
_ _"Ave, ave, dominicus, Benedicta tu, Et benedictus, eet benedictus, Fructus ventris tui jesus.”  
_ _  
_ _  
_ And his notes sounded like silk in response, like gentle whispers that he hoped wrapped around the singer, like the singer’s own notes were doing to him.  
  
And the song was short, and faded, along with the singer. And for a moment, Craig hesitated. He had planned to finish there...but..  
  
He didn’t want to. Not yet. He...wanted to hear the singer again.  
  
  
And after an agonising moment of indecision, he decided. Something well known then. And the first few notes of _O Mio Babbino Caro_ were silent for a moment, and then once more, the voice joined in.  
  
  
The voice was a tenor. Craig wasn’t an expert on vocal ranges, but he knew...enough to ascertain that much. Good to know, although...the mischievous part of him wanted to play. To see if the mysterious voice could play along.  
  
  
So, as the song finished, he switched to _Song to the Moon._ Usually a song sung by female vocalists, he was….curious on whether the stranger would know it, and how they would sing it. Honestly, he didn’t expect them to.  
  
So when the notes lightened even further to accommodate the pitch change, he was surprised for a moment, and messed up on a note. And he cursed himself. The singer was...versatile.  
  
  
And...he wondered.  
  
  
Did he play...it?  
  
  
Part of him was embarrassed by how he played it, that he would do the singer no justice. And weirdly, the idea worried him more than it probably should have considering this was just a stranger. And he deliberated as _Song to the Moon_ began to reach its end. Did he do it? Did he risk the stranger seeing just how...bad he was?  
  
And he’d decided he wouldn’t, that he would stop for the evening, would give himself a break.  
So when the notes for _Con te Partiro_ began, once again shakily, he cursed himself for not stopping. And he almost did, and would have.  
  
Had the singer not begun to sing along. And so, so beautifully. This… it suited their voice perfectly. And it felt...well practiced, as if the singer knew this song, had practiced it over and over.  
  
And Craig felt his own playing... _shift._ He didn’t know when it happened, as at that point, he had been the accompaniment. But something had changed in his own playing, and for the life of him he didn’t know what it was. Had he ever made sounds from his violin like this before? Had he even considered that he could sound like this?  
  
He had been stumbling over gravel before, and now he felt as if he was skating smoothly across ice. It was...amazing.  
  
  
What had changed? What the _hell had changed?  
_ _  
_ _  
_ Was it because he’d simply given the song a rest and played other ones? Was it because he was no longer...fretting about it?  
  
And as he played, as he tried to figure out just what..this was, he noticed something.  
  
The singer had changed from Italian to English.  
  
  
  
_“When I am alone, I dream at the horizon, and I can’t find the words. Ye_ _s, there is no light in the room when the sun is missing, if you are not there with me, with me.”  
  
_ _  
_ _  
_ Craig had never, ever heard this song in English before. He was sure it hadn’t been performed like that before. _  
_ _  
_ Was...this what the lyrics meant when translated? Craig had never really bothered to translate it. He didn’t _need_ to know what the song meant. He was an instrumentalist after all. So why had the singer done it?  
  
Struggling to both play and listen, he strained to catch the words.  
  


_“On the windows, I want to show everyone that you were the one that lit up my heart, that you were the one that enclosed the light from outside within me.”_ _  
_ _  
_  
Con te Partiro was a love song? And Craig had to refocus on his playing for a moment as he almost missed brushing the strings with the right pressure. And to screech right now would be terrible, and embarrassing, and would interrupt whatever this...spell was. 

_“With you I leave, to lands that we have never seen and lived. And now, we shall live them. With you I leave, on ships overseas that I know do not exist anymore. But with you, I shall live them.”_

And Craig played and listened to the story that was sung to him. The song, now that he knew what it was about, was surprisingly...touching. It was about...love, obviously, but also about remembering the past...together. Being able to go back and remember these things together, even though the time has already passed.  
  
He couldn’t deny it. It was beautiful.  
  
Or maybe that was the singer. Would it sound as beautiful if not for him?  
  
Maybe it was the singer that was beautiful  
  
  


_“And I, yes, I know that you are with me, with me. You, my moon, are here with me. You, my sun, are here with me, with me, with me, with me.”_

  
  
  
And the singer, almost as if playing, slipped back into Italian. But Craig, even with the words gone, couldn’t forget the meaning, how it felt to play...this.  
  
And he was...sad when the notes faded out. And Craig wished he could continue, but no songs came to mind that could compete with their final performance, and he didn’t want to cheapen it, even if the idea of ending this was a sorrowful one.  
  
So, he gently closed the window, and busied himself with packing away his violin.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Their ‘relationship’ had developed. They now ‘met’ one another at the window at the same time every night. It had started with Craig initiating the contact, reaching out with music, and the voice would reply. And over the days, the roles switched.

Sometimes in their sessions, the singer would start to sing, and Craig would try to follow along. Between the two of them there was quite a wealth of musical knowledge. The biggest shock came when the singer opened with the _Queen of the Night_ aria. He hadn’t expected such...liveliness and mischief, and it had been an...interesting performance between the two of them. Weirdly like a spar.  
  
Sometimes their songs complimented, sometimes they opposed. And Craig found himself enjoying the challenge, of having to stay on his toes, of being fluid and flexible. Of trying to find ways to catch the singer out. And a few times, he had caught the slightest hint of suppressed laughter during songs that were particularly...playful.  
  
But they always, without fail, ended their night with _Con Te Partiro_. Sometimes in full Italian, sometimes in English, sometimes the singer would mix and match lines seamlessly. And Craig would follow, and slowly developed a love for the song he’d previously hated.  
  
Sometimes, Craig considered trying to identify where the voice was coming from, but...he never pursued it. What would he do if he even found the singer? What would it achieve? How many excuses would he tell himself because he was scared?  
  
Because he and the singer had entered an odd dance, an odd ‘romance’, in the poetic sense of the word. Their music would meet, and would dance, and they would communicate, and say everything through their music. And Craig didn’t want to meet the person. Because it was stupid, foolhardy and utterly stupid of him to be lovesick over a voice.  
  
It was a ridiculous notion, and his more technical mind spoke severely to himself on many occasions on the stupidity and foolhardiness of the concept. You couldn’t love a person you hadn’t met. He was romanticising them because of what the two of them did, what they had together in these evenings.

The catharsis and the...joy in meeting through the held notes of Italian, of Russian, of French, of German. His mystery singer had a wide range of vocal languages.  
And at night, he dreamed of _Con te Partiro_. During the day his fingers itched to play it. During the day, the light reminded him of the lyrics, the moon at night doing the same.  
  
And he hated how it didn’t sound right when he played it alone. Even if the struggles from before he’d had with the song were...gone. Somewhere along the way, he’d found a way to put his soul, his heart into it, and the notes were no longer worried and panicked, but smooth, if somewhat forlorn when alone.  
  
What was wrong with him? When did he become such a...whatever this was? Music had seemed so much simpler before now. Learning a song, practicing a song, getting it correct. His music had changed now, and he couldn’t figure out _why._ What had changed? Why did all of his pieces sound...different now?  
  
  
He needed to focus on his interview.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Hi. I’m here for an interview.”  
  
“Name?”  
  
“Craig Tucker.”  
  
“Perfect. Violin?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Okay, if you head into the hall there. The other candidates are gathering there.”  
  
And Craig nodded, trying to push down the panic that had arisen. He was here, it was time.  
  
  
  
Was he ready?  
  
Would he have ever been ready?  
  
He tried to calm his thudding, pounding heart as he took a step into the room. And it was full of people. And honestly, he thought his heart was loud enough that someone would hear. So when he spied an empty patch of seats over to the left, naturally he went for those.  
  
And he sat. But he wasn’t alone for long, as barely thirty seconds after, a body all but threw itself into the seat next to him. And without warning or preamble, the person turned to him.  
  
  
“So, how are you feeling about today? Confident?”  
  
  
And Craig...didn’t respond to this strange, quirky blond...person thing. Who had started up a conversation with a complete stranger like it was nothing.  
  
“Uh, yeah, fine. You?”  
  
“Oh, I always get nervous before a performance, but I’m fine once I get up there. It’s pretty bad. I usually just imagine everyone wearing pyjamas.” And the blond grinned at the imagery, looking sheepish at having shared that tidbit of information. And Craig was wondering why he had.  
  
“I guess if it works for you.” Craig offered diplomatically, and the blond laughed.  
  
“I saw your expression. You think it’s weird don’t ya?”  
  
  
“Well yeah, but I’m not judging.”  
  
  
“So, you have any weird mantras, habits before performing?”  
  
  
Craig considered the question from the weird blond.  
  
  
  
“Not really. Water, breathing exercises.”  
  
  
“Ah, you’re a logical kinda person. I can respect that.”  
  
  
The hell was that even supposed to mean?  
  
  
“Oh, that didn’t offend you right? It honestly wasn’t meant that way. I say stupid stuff sometimes and don’t think about it. Sorry if it came out bad.”  
  
  
  
“...No, you’re good.”  
  
  
And the blond opened his mouth, clearly with another question, but stopped as the din slowly silence, and people took to the stage. The blond shrugged apologetically in a ‘ _what you gonna do?’_ manner, before turning towards the stage.  
  
  
“Welcome all, and thank you for your time today. I am Pieter Schoeman, first violin leader. I will be one of the people assessing your performances today. Alongside me is Vladimir Jurowski, the principal conductor of the LPO, and one other guest, who has kindly agreed to help evaluate your pieces, and accompany you today, Kenneth McCormick, one of the current established International Opera singers. I’m sure some of you have heard the name.”  
  
Who hadn’t heard the name? It was a very well known one. Even if Craig didn’t know him, hadn’t seen him, he obviously knew _of_ him.  
  
“Kenny, if you would join us that would be fantastic.”  
  
And people turned in their seats in interest as the violin leader looked over in their direction.  
  
  
Huh?  
  
And the blond next to him sighed.  
  
“I should’ve sat closer.” Craig heard him mutter, before turning to him.  
  
“Welp, that’s me. Good luck today.”  
  
  
HUH??  
  
  
And Craig had to work very hard to prevent his jaw from dropping as the slightly air headed blond waltzed up to the front of the stage and greeted everyone.

  
  
  
  
What  
  
  
  
The  
  
  
  
Hell?  
  
  
  
  
That weird, foot in mouth person was an opera singer? And not just any opera singer. Kenneth McCormick had made a big name for himself in Romania from when he was only nine years old, and he’d performed in some very highly regarded operas ever since.  
  
Craig wasn’t one to follow opera singers, but everyone in classical music recognised the name.  
  
Apparently he hadn’t recognised the _person_ though.  
  
Well, if he wasn’t slightly nauseous before, he was now. They had to accompany an opera singer. No pressure then.  
  
“Now, what we have done is send each of you out a song. This was based on your demo that you sent in to us. We provided you each with a song we felt would...challenge you and test what we felt were your weaknesses. And Kenny will accompany you as you perform said song.”  
  
And as the first person stepped onto the stage to play, Craig felt it. This was real, this was happening. And he was terrified. And he wasn’t the only one. Looking around, he could see signs that many people in the room were extremely nervous.  
  
And Craig recognised _Ave Maria_ as the violinist began to play. It made sense. Not a difficult song, but the simplicity made it very easy to see fault in any mistakes. Likely the person playing, the brunet boy, had some technical kinks that needed working out. At least, that’s what he would read from the song choice. Craig found it a relaxing piece for him, because it was simple, but it was easy to fall into the trap of making it sound bland and flat.  
  
  
  
And then his heart almost stopped.  
  
Because the singer, because _Kenny_ had started singing.  
  
And he knew without a shadow of a doubt, he would bet his entire life on the fact that he knew that voice.  
  
How could he not? He’d _played_ with this person every night. This was his mystery singer.  
  
And Craig didn’t know if he wanted to hide, wanted to leave the interview entirely, or just shut down entirely.  
  
None of them were sensible, so he stayed in a panicked state of mind, unable to relax as person after person performed.  
  
He could not do this. Not with him there watching. This was…..  
  
  
“Craig Tucker?”  
  
  
He jolted as if stung, almost kneeing the seat in front of him. And he stood robotically, trying to look calm, composed, like he wasn’t extremely intimidated.  
  
  
“Performing Con te partirò. Whenever you’re ready Mr Tucker.”  
  
And Craig...wasn’t sure what to do. Should he look to Kenny, to the audience, away from everyone?  
  
He decided he’d find out, but he needed to play. He couldn’t screw this up. He couldn’t. This was…  
  
And as he started playing, the strangest thing happened.  
  
He felt the worry fade, and he took a deep calming breath, and it was as if no one was there.

Almost no one. There was one other person there.

  
And he finally looked at Kenny, and saw the expression on his face.

And there was clear recognition.  
  
Of course, Kenny would recognise Craig's playing, his style. Just as he had recognised Kenny's. And rather than looking shocked, upset or bemused, there was almost a calm...gentleness to Kenny's expression?

Kenny remained in Italian, which Craig supposed made sense, but he had easily memorised the English lyrics at this stage, and simply overlaid on top of the sung ones in his mind.

Kenny...looked as beautiful as he sounded when they played together face to face. And Craig could see just how much Kenny enjoyed this song.

And a small piece of Craig...hoped that part of it was due to him playing alongside Kenny, with him.

And as they performed what Craig could only consider ‘their song’, he felt as if it was nothing more worrying than a usual performance at the same window of his apartment at night, at the same time.

Kenny's eyes were on his, and perhaps it was highly unprofessional, but Craig focused his attention on Kenny. There were no other interviewees, or even an interview. There was just the two of them, and this moment. They knew how to do this, they knew one another, where Craig would focus efforts more, where Kenny would pick up other areas.

And despite the superior acoustics, Craig felt there was a shame in performing like this. Their window sessions, playing for the city and the sky, for the setting sun, and the pale moon, those seemed far more meaningful, and accompanied the playing like the finest and headiest of wines to a suited dish. 

Perhaps it was...silly of him, but he liked the idea that in the rundown building, he could imagined meeting Kenny after all, now that he'd met him. 

  
And as the song hit final notes all too soon and faded away, Craig felt he could honestly say, in the most heartfelt way, that he couldn’t have done any better. If he didn’t get the role, it wasn’t because he didn’t put everything he could into it. And he could be content, whatever happened.

He had given his heart and soul to that song. Without even a battle, he had willing given himself to it.

And again, perhaps the romanticist in him was spouting nonsense, but as the room began to clap, he...wondered if in fact it wasn't the _song_ he'd given those thing to.

He wondered if he had in fact given them far sooner than this moment in the hall.

The applause began, and he blinked. And the spell was broken. He remembered where he was, what he was doing.

  
During the applause, he heard Kenny, who now stood right beside him, speak oh so quietly, so no one could hear.  
  
  
“I had wondered who the ‘perfect robot player’ had been when I first heard your demo.”  
  
  
“I mean, seeing as you're actually a famous opera singer and not a singing window hobbyist, I should take that as a compliment..” Craig snarked in a low tone, forgetting that this was one of his interviewers essentially.  
  
  
He wasn’t just that really, he was mystery window singer. And they’d already breached a barrier of knowing through playing together.  
  
  
Kenny subtly smiled.  
  
  
“Yeah..my bad on that front. In my defense, I didn’t know you were a interviewee here.”  
  
  
“Hope I exceeded your initial expectations.” Craig had to admit, he was being a little snippy. It was the shock of it all more than anything. And Kenny took it in excellent humour as he smiled at the comment.  
  
  
“I’d say so. I was the one who picked your song for the interview after all. And I know you’ve been practicing very hard. And it’s paid off.” He spoke under the applause.  
  
  
“Don’t give me any special allowances.” Craig blurted out bluntly.  
  
  
He was being defensive. And rude.  
  
  
Not just to someone interviewing him, but a famous singer. But more importantly, the target of his most recent...devotion.  
  
  
Whoops.  
  
  
Oh, he was an idiot. Should he feel stupid right now? Embarrassed? Intimidated? He had no idea.  
  
  
And his comment seemed to amuse Kenny more than anything.  
  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it. You seem the type to know if you got in on your own merits.”  
  
  
And just as the applause was dying, one more question.  
  
  
“Are you sticking around to watch the others?”  
  
  
No more clapping to cover their conversation, so Craig paused, and then nodded. As if thanking the interviewers for their time. But his eyes met Kenny’s.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
It was late in the day when the process was finally over, and they were told they would hear back within a week or so.  
  
And Craig was outside. Maybe a little foolishly, but after everyone had left, he thought it would be...silly to sit there waiting, so had left with the group. But here he was, waiting outside the building anyway.  
  
And for a moment, he considered that he would usually be at his window practicing. But neither of them would be there tonight. And Craig sighed as he leaned his head back against the brick wall, looking at the brown, cloudiness of the night sky.  
  
  
“I thought you might have already left.”  
  
  
And Craig turned, to see Kenny currently half shrugging himself into a jacket.  
  
  
“Were you waiting for me?” he seemed to tease.  
  
  
“You know I was.” He answered honestly. There was no point in lying about it, and the sincerity seemed to soften the teasing look in Kenny’s expression.  
  
  
“So...some bad news.” Kenny spoke up  
  
  
Craig wondered if it was possible for them to have decided that he didn’t suit the role that quickly. Still, he’d take it on the chin if that was the case. And Kenny, looking at his expression, laughed.  
  
  
“It’s not that bad. Don’t worry. I was going to say, I may have to step back in regards to assessing your application, for conflict of interest reasons. Don't worry though, you'll still get assessed and replied to, you're still in the running, just...I can't be a part of that process.”  
  
  
“Did you know it was me the whole time?” Craig had to know, and to his relief, Kenny shook his head.  
  
  
“I had no idea. You were some...mysterious violinist that just...appeared in the night air. The minute you started playing today though, I knew.”  
  
  
Craig nodded. That was good to know. It would have been odd for his interviewer to have known it was him.  
  
  
  
“So, you have to step back because we played together right?”  
  
  
And Kenny sighed, and shook his head.  
  
  
“No. No...that’s not it. Neither of us knew after all.”  
  
  
“Then..why?”  
  
  
“Because there’s a definite conflict of interest. Even if the interest hasn’t been...vocalised yet.”  
  
  
Craig glanced over at Kenny. Who was looking at him.  
  
  
“Yet?”  
  
  
“I’m kind of building up the courage.” Kenny admitted.  
  
  
And suddenly, it clicked into place for Craig.  
  
  
“You want to…”  
  
  
Kenny gave a noisy sigh, looking upwards.  
  
  
“Well, yeah. I mean, why not? Maybe it’s kinda crazy, and a little bit corny, but I’ve sang alongside you. And..well, I was planning on trying to find out who you were anyway. And, I totally get that it sounds weird and crazy, but...well, I wanna know more about you Craig."

"When I first heard you at my window, it was all instrumental violin pieces, and I just listened. And they were perfect...technically. But then you played Ave Maria, and I felt...a hint of relaxation from the song, and when sang with you, at first, it was a bit of fun, joining in, a nice moment of musical serendipity."

"This...mysterious, beautiful player, who then out of nowhere, like it was fate, happened to play my favourite song? I mean, I _had_ to know more. And then, I felt like...I dunno, we kept coming back, right? Night after night? And it was exciting, and challenging, and I looked forward to it a lot. I mean, I sing for a living Craig, but everyday, I was just...waiting to getting home, and make music with you again."

"And you….you just...well, you amazed me. You’re talented. I honestly thought that from your demo. You were just...so...cold, there was nothing in your work. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if you had a _voice_ in your music, but then...I heard _you_ those nights. You were so quiet at first, but it was there in your music. And I wanted to...I dunno, coax it out, see more of it, it was like uh...when you see a cute animal, but it's kinda scared of you? And I’m gonna say it, even if it’s so cheesy. When I finally heard it properly, it was...beautiful, and I wanted to hear more, wanted to...uh, meet you I guess.”  
  
Craig blinked. And then blinked again.  
  
  
“And it’s cool if that’s not what you want. Like, no worries, I get it. It’s probably kinda weird. It just seemed fair to tell you why I couldn’t..you know, look at your application. Ah geez, you can tell I don’t do this that often.”  
  
And Craig could clearly see the pink tinged on Kenny’s cheeks from here.  
  
  
“Are you..asking me out?”  
  
  
“Uh, kinda. I mean if you don’t wanna I to-”  
  
  
“-I’d love to.”  
  
  
“-tally get i-wait what?” And Kenny looked towards Craig as if hearing him for the first time. Craig nodded, utterly amused by this entire exchange.  
  
  
“Let’s do it.”  
  
  
“Really?”  
  
  
“Yeah. I wanted to meet you too. A lot. And now we’re both here. It makes sense, right?"  
  
  
Kenny laughed.  
  
  
“You’re so...logical about it.”  
  
  
Craig shrugged.  
  
  
“You sang me a love song. I think I’m in pretty deep at this stage. Didn’t even know it was a love song before I met you.”  
  
  
“I translated it for you, you know. Call me a sap, but maybe I liked the idea that I was serenading you kinda. I wanted to...serenade this mysterious violinist of the night that appeared out of nowhere and charmed me."

Craig scoffed.

Did it work?” Kenny asked with a sideways grin.  
  
  
And Craig looked to Kenny, rolling his eyes, before nodding.  
  
  
“Completely and utterly.”  
  
  
And as Craig leaned down to pick up his case, Kenny spoke.   
  
  
"Hey, Craig. You know what _Con te Partirò_ means, right?"  
  
  
"...With you I leave?"  
  
  
"...Yep. Soooo....Con te Partirò?"  
  
  
"...You're so sappy."  
  
  
"Answer the question Craig. Don't keep a romantic waiting. "  
  
  
"....Yeah....Con te Partirò."

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Opera singer Kenny with Craig being a musician of sorts that happens to play an instrument of choice when Kenny sings. 
> 
> ****
> 
> I put Kenny as a Tenor for this. apologies if people feel he'd be another vocal range, but it seemed to fit, especially with his early ability to hit higher notes
> 
> Some fun facts. Pieter Schoeman, is the actual first violin leader for the LPO, same with Vladimir Jurowski, the principal conductor. 
> 
> Those english lyrics Kenny sang? They were the translation, but no way in hell would they fit the pacing of the song XD. I tried to sit through and remake the english lyrics to fit the melody, but realised it would take a while to do, so some lyrical fitting suspension of belief will be needed there XD. 
> 
> Kenny did actually perform the aria of 'Queen of the Night' in the show (which is impressive, as it's a high note, usually female vocal part.): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKD7Y-_mT9M
> 
> An original version of 'Queen of the Night: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YuBeBjqKSGQ&ab_channel=RoyalOperaHouse
> 
> A male version of the same song (just to see how fucking impressive it is! Honestly, it blows my mind: https://youtu.be/GwktricYP8o) 
> 
> The prompt title/song 'Con te partirò', was a song that Kenny would know well, seeing as it's the first song he learned in the show when learning to sing opera. I like to imagine it has a special place in his heart because of this, which is why he gave it to Craig, because it's emotive, invokes feeling, and was important to him as a piece: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtZkzkX9JYE 
> 
> A version of 'Con te partirò', known as 'Time to Say Goodbye' was also released. However, the translation is kind of funny, as 'Con te partirò' means "With you I leave", which doesn't quite translate across correctly as 'Time to say Goodbye'. I think the original title is more romantic anyway <3


	9. Stuck on the Puzzle / Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 9. Summary of chapter, as always will be at the end (to avoid spoilers). This was requested as a prompt by Anonymous (Tumblr). Hope it’s as you were expecting <3 (I'll be honest, this idea grew a life of its own and ran away with me, so heartiest apologies if it wasn't)
> 
> As always lovely people, let me know your thoughts!

* * *

## 

##  **Stuck on the Puzzle / Stay**

* * *

_Story Song (Craig's Song): Alex Turner - Stuck on The Puzzle  
Story Song (Kenny's Song): Shakespear's Sister - Stay _

* * *

  
  
  
Kenny was a complete and utter contradiction.  
  
  
Kenny was a stranger, a person he knew at school, but someone who acted far too intimate with him. There was contradiction everywhere. It was two separate puzzles emptied onto the floor, but the person wanted all the pieces used to make one final picture. Except pieces didn’t fit together, didn’t align, and there were eight corner pieces instead of four.  
  
And Craig was trying oh so hard, to figure out exactly how he was supposed to ...piece this person together so he could see the end result that was Kenny McCormick. Because he felt as if he was in a race against time, and that if he couldn’t figure it out, couldn’t piece it all together in time...he’d lose.  
  
The tiny clues were there, and as separate pieces, they seemingly had no link of any kind. But Craig had recognised them as key pieces that would connect to one another and would align everything.  
  
And Kenny, in his own, odd way, offered clarity to these clues.  
  
  
Kenny often did strange things. He would often cover Craig’s eyes, asking “Guess who?”.  
  
And because Kenny was the only one to ever do so, to ever dare to do such a thing to him, Craig knew there was only one person it could be. Only one person it could ever be.  
  
But Craig, for all his usual mannerisms, always found himself once again humouring Kenny. Because for every rule that existed in Craig’s world, Kenny was the exception. For every neat, tidy, completed picture, Kenny was the two or three puzzle pieces left over that needed to fit _somewhere_ , the pieces that made Craig have to redo the entire thing again, so as to fit Kenny in.  
  
Part of him wondered if Kenny had even realised or had recognised that he always humoured him. Because with every ‘fuck off McCormick’, every ‘go away’, every ‘leave me alone’, Kenny would persist.  
  
And people would have perhaps wondered to their relationship, and Craig could only answer, there wasn’t one. Kenny was no one’s, but also somehow, that didn’t fit right either…  
  
None of this made any sense, and none of it aligned, but every time Craig considered simply giving up, and not thinking about it, there Kenny would be once again, small fingers over eyes.  
  
  
  
“Guess who?”  
  
  
And Craig let him.  
  
  
Friends had pointed it out. The more observant ones anyway. Craig simply shrugged, or perhaps would be generous and tell them ‘that’s stupid’. The idiotic observant ones would say something to him.  
It was the silent observers, the ones with the wry looks, the slight slant of eyebrows. It was none of their business, but up that eyebrow would go anyway, as if that somehow made it their business.  
  
How could it be their business, when Craig wasn’t even sure it was his? But when he wanted to walk away, Kenny seemed to push the business right back into his arms, without even asking. And because it was Kenny, Craig let him. Even if he couldn’t ascertain why it being Kenny should make a difference.  
  
  
Craig...remembered the first night they started orbiting each other’s spaces in a manner lasting longer than it took for a cigarette to be smoked. Because up until then, that was the only thing they had ever really shared.  
  
Craig remembered that day. It had been cold, been dark, and grey. And the dark had seemed to grow, and he had been...okay with that he supposed. He had stood, by himself, in the greyscale and the encroaching dark, watching it with mild interest. And he had a cigarette in his mouth, but couldn’t for the life of him find a lighter. He’d been sure he had one, but he couldn’t find it.  
And he’d been slightly irked with the fact, but at peace with it.  
  
  
 _Click.  
_  
  
Orange had appeared. A small orange spark and flame. And then a less small orange parka. And more colours. Blond hair, blue eyes.  
  
And Craig decided then that the dark and the grey could stay where it was for the moment. Because he was fascinated by the colours. And by the _click click click,_ as Kenny kept pressing the lighter, the tiny flame catching his eye each time.  
  
“I’ve got you Craig, don’t worry.” He lit Craig’s cigarette. And Craig nodded his thanks at the person he never really spoke to, but stood beside him despite this.  
  
And Kenny really seemed to like the small spark of the lighter. He would casually continue to play with it, clicking it needlessly as he took a drag of his own cigarette.  
  
  
“Afraid of the dark?” Craig sniped, and Kenny simply let out a breathy laugh.  
  
  
“Always. A little light helps though. As long as it’s not too bright. Remember that Tucker.” Kenny held up the lighter, flicking it on.  
  
  
“This kinda light is fine.”  
  
  
“Okay?”  
  
  
Kenny must be high. Sometimes, he occasionally came out with the oddest things. And Craig didn’t really understand it, but he let it be.  
  
  
Today however, he was feeling curious.  
  
  
“Is there a light that isn’t safe?”  
  
  
“Lasers are pretty dangerous I guess. And I don’t like bright lights. They wake you up, or they blind you. Always stay away from those ones dude.”  
  
  
And Craig, not knowing how to respond, shrugged. Because Kenny was odd, strange, said weird things, and made no sense.  
  
  
But he kind of liked that. Even if he didn’t really know why he did. To be fair, he didn’t know why about a lot of things. And most of those things had the same root cause.  
  
  
And they didn’t always smoke. Sometimes, they would do other sensible things.  
  
  
Like night swimming.  
  
  
In the ocean. Of all places. And it had been Kenny’s fault.  
  
  
But wasn’t it always?  
  
  
Craig supposed he should take some blame. After all, he’d been the one naive enough to take a night walk along the beach. He should have known that an innocent walk would turn into him noticing the orange parka laying on the pebbles, just out of reach of the waves.  
And he could have walked on, ignored it and continued. Because it was none of his business, right?  
  
  
But, he’d paused, for just a moment, the colour almost magnetising at this stage. Maybe this parka was a corner piece of the puzzle he was still trying to solve. Maybe the fact it chased away the shadows and the bland grey meant something.  
  
And then, as he deliberated this possibility, a head broke the surface of the water, and once again, it was a signal that Kenny was simply pushing things that he was sure weren't his business at him once again and making it his business.  
  
Obviously, he was noticed, and waved at, blond hair plastered to Kenny’s forehead, rivulets of water cascading over eyes which closed tightly to avoid it, and then opened again.  
  
Why the hell was Kenny swimming in the ocean so late at night? And why upon noticing him, did he smile...like that, before wading back to shore.  
  
Why did Kenny keep giving him even more puzzle pieces? Didn’t he have enough to be sorting through? But he could no longer remain too long in his own head, because Kenny stood there in front of Craig shivering, offering the...oddest smile.  
  
  
“Come and swim with me.” he asked.  
  
  
“Why?” Craig glanced out at the water. It was dark, inky black.  
  
  
“I’m hiding from sleep. Come and hide with me.”  
  
  
“From...sleep?”  
  
  
But Kenny just grinned and gestured.  
  
  
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”  
  
  
Craig hesitated.  
  
  
“You know...everyone at school calls you trouble.”  
  
  
And Kenny gave the oddest, most wistful of smiles.  
  
  
“Yeah...I’ve been told that before.’ And he glanced up at Craig from under wet bangs.  
  
  
“Do you?”  
  
  
“Do I what?”  
  
  
“Do you think I’m trouble?”  
  
  
Craig..deliberated. He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if he cared even if he did think that.  
  
  
“I...think you’re the most troubling person I’ve ever met. But, that doesn’t matter to me.” He settled on. And Kenny's smile widened. As if the answer pleased him somehow.  
  
  
“Come and swim in the dark half of the blue.” And Craig looked out to the inky darkness. The darkness that was...different to the darkness usually following.  
  
  
And somehow, these events all linked together, didn’t they?  
  
  
And Craig sighed, Kenny was definitely being someone who was trouble. He shucked out of his jacket anyway, toeing off his shoes, sliding his phone and keys into shoes for safekeeping.  
  
  
And when Craig was done, and looked up, he saw an expression on Kenny’s face. He looked so...relieved.  
  
  
Why?  
  
  
Craig had so many puzzle pieces already. Why did Kenny keep giving him more and more? Why did his expressions make things so much more...confusing?  
  


And Kenny took his hand, like it was a normal occurrence, a gentle touch, but a firm grip,  
  
Kenny was so... push and pull. Playing games with hands hiding vision, with pushing and clicking lighters, with pulling him along into the water. Everything was so tactile. Kenny liked to touch. Like to say odd things. Like now, when he glanced back at him for a moment, squeezing his hand.  
  
  
“Stay with me, okay? Don’t wanna lose you.” He said earnestly. Like they were close. Like these clues and pieces meant something.  
  
“I’m not gonna go anywhere.” Craig found himself answering.  
  
  
“You promise?”  
  
  
He nodded, and they slowly let the water consume them. Not forever, but for a while. And there was darkness and peace.  
  
But afterwards, after a while, they resurfaced, and retreated from the dark and cold to the shore instead.   
  
Despite the shivering, Kenny seemed more than happy to sit with him in drenched clothes.  
  
  
“Aren’t you cold?” Craig asked. And Kenny nodded and trembled.

Craig was no better, he supposed.  
  
  
“Yeah. But it keeps me awake. And I don’t want to sleep.” And once again, without asking, Kenny took Craig's hand, and squeezed.   
  
  
And they sat there, staring out over at the ocean in front of them, and in the cold air, Craig wondered why he went along with Kenny’s odd whims and wishes. He never said no to them. All Kenny had to do was ask, and usually, the final result would be agreement.  
  
Even if it ended with him cold, looking like a drowned rat in his clothes, and wondering why they’d even done that.  
And Craig could understand Kenny’s point. He’d never felt more awake, the iciness was keeping him alert.  
  
After a while, despite the pebbled beach, he leaned back, so that he could look up at the sky. At the stars.  
  
But Kenny was sabotaging his efforts, appearing in his line of sight, dripping water onto his cheek as he looked down at him.  
  
  
“Ignore the stars. They’re boring. And too bright. Stay on earth with me, space boy. Don’t go drifting off.”  
  
  
“They’re not lights.” Craig tried to explain, but he was adamant.  
  
  
“You’re looking at the wrong blue.” And he gestured out at the water.  
  
  
“But…”  
  
Craig found Kenny was both right and wrong. He was looking at the wrong blue. But the right blue wasn’t in the sky or the sea.  
  
And he felt a piece of the puzzle slot into place.  
  
  
Craig and Kenny had eventually gone separate ways to head home, to get dry. But Craig remembered Kenny’s words, about wanting to stay awake, and he wondered which angle, which amount of rotation he would have to do with this puzzle piece to slot it into place. And he tried putting it next to many pieces, but it didn’t quite fit.  
  
The next day at school, he was still deliberating these pieces. And it was during that moment that he realised just how...grey things were when Kenny wasn’t around. The other students, the staff, the outside, the cafeteria. It all seemed so...greyscale now.  
  
But hands covered his eyes once again.  
  
  
“Guess who?”  
  
  
Craig gave a small smile, barely noticeable, and jokingly reeled off a few names. And it was worth it to hear the slight sniggers as Craig indulged and played Kenny’s game.  
  
And when the fingers were removed, Craig noted that he’d also closed his eyes.  
  
“Open your eyes.” The joking tone reached his ears, and he did so, shocked at the colour that had returned to the vicinity. Kenny always seemed to bring it with him.  
  
  
 _Click  
_ _  
__  
_Like the clicking of that lighter, another puzzle piece slotted easily into place. And the image there started to take shape. Not enough to be recognised, but once it was done, Craig would have his answer.  
  
“You’re so bad at that game.” Kenny remarked in a teasing tone. Craig shrugged. They both knew that Craig was pretending, that he played along. Kenny had never asked why. He simply seemed pleased that Craig indulged him so thoroughly.   
  
Craig wanted to ask him so many things.  
  
  
  
Why he did that?  
  
Why only to him?  
  
Why did he click the lighter, reigniting what had gone out?  
  
Why did he chase the dark and the grey away?  
  
Why was Kenny the answer to ‘the correct blue’  
  
Why did he see that parka everywhere he went?  
  
Why was it that every time he tried to focus on anything else, he kept getting caught on the puzzle and dragged back?  
  
  
  
Why?  
  
  
And later, walking alongside the beach once more, Craig was so...confused and so tangled up in everything. With Kenny’s behaviour, his words, why he was always _there_ .  
  
And he was almost unsurprised at this stage that Kenny was there, on the beach, as if waiting for him. He was dry this time, and his head was buried in his arms, and Craig could hear the softest sobs from him. Kenny was crying. Why?  
  
And Craig felt it perfectly natural to sit beside him, causing him to look up.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Craig asked him softly.  
  
  
“I’m scared. I’m so, so scared Craig.”  
  
  
“Of what?”  
  
  
“That...you’ll leave me all alone.”  
  
  
Craig frowned slightly. Why would he? These days, all they did was hang around one another. And Craig felt a sensation, a head that leaned against him, his shoulder. And, Craig..returned the gesture, an almost tentative arm around the blond’s shoulders. For comfort reasons.  
  
  
  
 _Click  
_  
  
  
“I won’t.” Craig heard himself say out loud. And Kenny looked up, eyes glassy and red rimmed. He had really been crying.  
  
  
“Craig...stay with me, okay?” Kenny asked, tears still sliding down his face, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.   
  
  
Kenny was contradictory, and nonsensical, and said the strangest things. And none of it made sense. But he’d felt another puzzle piece slot into place. And Craig was starting to see the picture.  
  
  
“It’s okay...Kenny.”  
  
  
And there was silence for a moment.  
  
  
“That’s the first time you’ve said my name...”  
  
  
“I think...I’m starting to realise. Why you’re always around.” Craig spoke slowly.  
  
  
  
And Craig noticed for the first time, an expression he’d never seen in Kenny’s eyes.  
  
  
Hope.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Kenny rubbed his eyes tiredly. And he looked up at the prone body, who had yet to move. Kenny was so tired, but he refused to sleep, and it showed. But he couldn’t.  
  
  
He needed to stay awake. For Craig.  
  
  
Craig lay there, motionless on the bed. So pale. Under the bruises, the blood, the tubes. Under everything, the skin was too pale.

And the rhythmic beeping of the machines had more than once tried to lull Kenny into sleep. But he couldn’t.

  
  
Because _she_ sat there, waiting. All in black. And nurses had come and gone, a doctor had checked in. None of them had noticed her.  
  
  
But Kenny absolutely did. Knew what she was.  
  
  
 _Who she was.  
_  
  
And she spoke up as he almost tiredly glared at her, the glare weaker than it had been from the times before.  
  
  
“You’re tired, child.” Her voice seemed to echo and whisper.  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“You cannot save him forever. He is going to die. You are simply buying him time, prolonging the inevitable.”  
  
  
“He’s going to wake up.” Kenny replied fiercely. And she sighed, standing, causing Kenny to flinch, to reflexively place himself between her and Craig. 

  
“I would not be here if that was true. And I cannot take him if you are in the way. Move, little immortal that opposes the Angel of Death, and let me take him.”  
  
  
Kenny shook his head.  
  
  
“I believe in him. He’ll wake up. I **will not** let you have him. Ever.”  
  
  
She rolled her eyes.  
  
  
“Try to understand little immortal. You and he have different paths. One way or another, he _will_ die, whether today, or in the future. You cannot prevent that.”  
  
And Kenny ignored her, blinking away his tiredness. He hadn’t slept since the accident had happened three days ago. He was feeling...woozy. But he slipped his fingers between Craig’s. Because for some reason, she couldn’t get to Craig while he was in the way.

He had a suspicion it had something to do with the fact he couldn’t really die. He wasn’t going to question or think about it too hard. The point was, ever since she had arrived, three days ago, mere hours after the accident, Kenny had refused to leave Craig, and she had remained in that corner ever since, simply...waiting. 

  
  
“Stay with me Craig, okay?”  
  
  
And Kenny had spent most of the three days talking to Craig, trying anything he could to bring him back.  
  
  
“...You realise his parents will ask you to leave eventually. And then he will be mine.”  
  
  
And Kenny didn’t want to think about that. They’d always disliked Kenny. And he and Craig….they were...together, and had been for a long while.  
  
But they...weren’t married. He didn’t have any legal rights. If Laura and Thomas decided he needed to be removed, they would get their way.  
  
And Kenny was the _only_ thing standing between Craig and this...Angel of Death. She, for whatever reason, couldn’t complete her task while he protected Craig. And he wasn’t going to complain. But he didn’t dare fall asleep. Because he was sure if he fell asleep, Craig would die.  
  
  
“Please. Don’t take him from me…” He was...Kenny’s everything. And he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ give that up _.  
_ _  
__  
_And she huffed impatiently.

  
“He should not have survived even this long. I do not appear needlessly, child. If I am still here, he is ready to die. The fact that he hasn’t frankly baffles me. Almost as if he...or you just won’t _l_ _ _e_ t go. _ ”  
  
And tears pricked at Kenny’s eyes.  
  
  
“I’ll never let him go. NEVER.”  
  
  
“You are being quite unreasona-” and she reached out a hand.  
  
  
“Stay away!”  
  
  
And she lowered her hand and sighed. She had listened to this boy speak to his loved one for three days. Three days he had kept her from him.  
  
  
But she was patient.   
  
  
“...I can wait. Eventually, either his family will arrive, or you will weaken. And then this ridiculous last stand will be over.”  
  
  
And once again, she took a seat.  
  
  
  
“Craig, open your eyes.” Kenny whispered.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
It was so dark. Where was the colour? The light?  
  
  
  
Hands covered his eyes.  
  
  
“Guess who?”  
  
  
“Stan?”  
  
  
“Pfft. Like he would do this.”  
  
  
“Clyde?”  
  
  
“Okay, he would.”  
  
  
“I give up.”  
  
  
Hand removed.  
  
  
“Craig, open your eyes.”  
  
  
And Craig opened them, and Kenny stood there, grinning, once again chasing away the grey and the dark. Craig rolled his eyes.  
  
  
Craig still wanted to figure it out. All of it. He felt like he could solve this puzzle. He only had a small part left, and he had started to realise that somehow, Kenny held all the answers as well as the questions.  
  
But he was scared, one wrong move, one wrong guess, and it would all come crashing down.  
  
And why was Kenny always at the centre of these puzzle pieces? They weren’t technically even _friends._ He didn’t know what they were.  
  
And Kenny was smiling at him, as if he could..understand what was troubling Craig.  
  
  
“You can do it Craig. I know you can. You won’t let this beat you, right?”  
  
  
And Craig didn’t know exactly what it was, but knowing that Kenny was cheering him on, with whatever this was. Well, it gave him hope.  
  
He would figure this out. All of it. Why these tiny little clues and pieces, these fragments, why they seemed so strange, but so important.  
  
  
But.   
  
  
  
But, Kenny had gotten pale.  
  
  
Kenny was always so bright, always had colour. But...it was fading…  
  
  
Why was Kenny...fading?  
  


* * *

  
Kenny couldn’t...he had to hold out...but his body was fighting him on this.  
  
He was losing.   
  
  
“Craig, please. Please wake up. I can’t hold out much longer...” He whispered into the hand he held, leaning his head against it.  
  


* * *

  
  
And Kenny turned to him, looking panicked and scared.  
  
  
“Craig..I...”  
  
  
Things were getting darker, Craig was sure of it. And the colour, the orange, the correct side of the blue, slowly bled out of Kenny.  
  
  
“Craig, you have to finish the puzzle, please!”  
  
  
“I can’t...I don’t know where the last piece goes.”  
  
  
“Craig, I’m out of time. Please. You promised me, you promised you wouldn’t leave me alone. You KNOW what the last piece is. Once you realise it, you can open your eyes.”  
  
  
Open his eyes? They were open. There were no fingers covering them. Just a crying Kenny standing in front of him. Why was Kenny crying? Why was Kenny reaching to take his hand again, and squeezing it tightly?  
  
  
He didn’t understand…  
  
  
….Why was..he crying as well?  
  
  
  
None of this made sense!  
  
  
  
  
He needed it to make sense, that’s how it worked, how he’d always worked. There was only one thing he allowed in his life that didn’t make sense. Only one thing that could take the parts of his mind and toss them around like confetti. There was only one thing that he loved enough to be allowed to do that.  
  
  
  
  
  
 _Click  
  
_ _  
__  
_….  
  
  
  
Oh.  
  
  
  
….  
  
  
  


* * *

  
“It is time, child. You need to move. You are no longer strong enough to stop me.”  
  
  
“No...please….”  
  
  
“It will be painless. I promise you.” And she looked to the fading blond with pity.  
  
  
And the machines keeping Craig’s pulse stuttered as she stepped close. And Kenny gave one, last ditch effort.   
  
  
“CRAIG, WAKE UP!!”  
  


* * *

  
  
Craig had...felt that. That call. And the Kenny here had faded away. But it didn't matter, because he'd realised.   
  
  
  
  
This wasn’t real was it? None of this had been real. He wasn’t supposed to be here.  
  
  
  
He promised Kenny he wouldn’t leave him alone.  
  


* * *

  
Kenny was sobbing right now. She was going to take him and he couldn’t do anything about it. He’d tried, he’d tried so hard. And he hated that he’d failed him. If only he’d been a little stronger.  
  
  
“Craig…” He choked out as he squeezed tightly on his hand.  
  
  
...  
  
  
  
....  
  
  
....  
  
  
And he was sure he imagined it, was sure of it.  
  
  
And then it happened again.  
  
His hand was squeezed back. Ever so slightly.  
  
And the Angel's hand, which had passed over Kenny’s shoulder, just about to touch Craig's skin, hovered and stopped. Just before the slightest fingertip could graze.   
  
  
And it withdrew.  
  
  
  
“..W..what?” And Kenny looked up. And Craig’s hand gently squeezed his own hand again. Weakly. But it was there.  
  
  
And a small sigh from behind them.  
  
  
“Unbelievable. The difference a few _seconds_ can make. Any later than that...absolutely remarkable...” the Angel muttered, before giving a rueful smile at the blond mess who had looked over sharply at her words.  
  
  
And she was...fading.  
  
  
“Wait...what?”

  
  
“I only remain where I am needed. Evidently, I’m no longer needed here. It looks as if it is no longer...his time. He is no longer ready to die.Your persistence was...evidently enough. Perhaps we will meet again, immortal child.”  
  
  
And then she was gone.  
  
  
Kenny turned back to Craig so fast, he almost caused himself whiplash. And tired, struggling to open eyes blearily fluttered for a moment, before closing to try once more. Before focusing on him.  
  
  
“C-Craig...you….I…”  
  
  
“..Kenny.” The voice was raspy, unused and very tired, but it was music to Kenny’s ears. And he almost threw himself on the boy, remembering at the last moment he needed to be gentle. And if he had been crying before, it was _nothing_ compared to the torrent that arose from the immense...relief. And the hand was trembling, and weak, but he felt it on his head, gently and lightly touching his hair.  
  
  
“You almost died. You almost fucking DIED. You….you....bastard! Don’t you EVER do that to me ever again! EVER. I mean it! I will kill you myself if you ever put me through that again!”  
  
And of all the first sentences he’d wanted to say to Craig...that...hadn’t been..up there. It had slipped out. And he was still crying. He needed to let the staff know, or Craig’s parents. So why was he just lying here, his head on Craig, which may be hurting him, bawling like an utter, complete child? And why was Craig okay with this?  
  
  
“Wasn’t go’n die.”  
  
“Don’t you fucking talk, don’t. You need to damn well rest, so stop talking right now. I need to let someone know, and your family and I-”  
  
  
“...Kenny.”  
  
  
“That damn well counts as talking. Stop.”  
  
  
And when Craig tried to speak again, it was halting and clearly took a large amount of effort to do so. But apparently Kenny’s telling off meant nothing to the stubborn jackass.  
  
  
“Promised.”  
  
  
“That still counts as fucking talking, Tucker!”  
  
  
“Wouldn’t leave you. Promised. Don’t cry.”  
  
  
And Kenny stopped, and then scrubbed at his eyes.  
  
  
“Not crying. You’re clearly high from drugs.” He muttered.   
  
  
A hoarse, quiet laugh. And Kenny decided he needed to go and get someone, because otherwise he would tackle this precious person of his, and god he’d just gotten him back, he didn’t want to break him.  
  
  
“Lie there. I’m just gonna get someone, okay?”  
  
  
And Craig clearly didn’t have the energy to argue. He was currently putting all his energy into something else.   
  
  
“Craig...I need my hand back. You need to leggo.”  
  
  
“No. Mine.”  
  
  
“Okay, now I know you’re high from something. I can’t leave without my hand ya know.”  
  
  
“Then stay with me.”  
  
  
Kenny sighed, and smiled, giving in. Craig wasn't gonna listen to what he said, was he?  
  
  
“Okay....I guess I need to return the favour...right? I'll stay."  
  
  
Craig squeezed his hand.  
  
  


* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Song prompt: Stuck On the Puzzle by Alex Turner
> 
> *****
> 
> Dear gods, at the end scenes I was panicking as much as Kenny was XD.


	10. Let Me Love You Bro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't fuck with Craig when he starts counting down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 10. Summary of chapter, as always will be at the end (to avoid spoilers). This was requested as a prompt by Anonymous (Tumblr). Hope it’s as you were expecting <3\. This was a lot longer than I thought it would be, but man, this one just flowed. 
> 
> As always lovely people, let me know your thoughts!
> 
> (Also, I'd heartily recommend listening to Let Me Love You for the first half of the chapter (for that slow, heartfelt vibe. I always try to pick a song version that matches if possible. This version had the right tempo, voice, and replaced/removed any use of ‘girl’, so would recommend), and The Bro duet for the second half, as the moodage fits better.  
> Plus just imagining Kenny and Craig singing the Bro Duet lyrics but with their own tales just fits SO well for this chapter.)

* * *

## Let Me Love You Bro

* * *

  
Story Song (Craig’s): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k8SWXeBzKH4&ab_channel=PaoMadrid

Story Song (Kenny and Craig’s ‘Friendship’): George Salazar, Jason Gotay - The Bro Duet  
  
  


* * *

Kenny never made a noise when people fucked him. Sometimes there was a sharp intake of breath, and a slow release of air, almost as if he’d forgotten to breathe.  
He never bothered to completely undress either.  
And they never stayed.  
It was almost fun, the way they’d eye Craig, still at his computer, as if they’d forgotten he was in the room up until the point they’d collapsed, post orgasm, and had begun the task of cleaning themselves and gathering their own clothing. It was only then that they displayed the true ‘walk of shame’ with a mixture of embarrassment, averting gaze upon noticing that yes, Craig was watching them, with a flat expression, that they were unable to decipher. 

He knew that, because he’d spent years honing that expression. Inwardly, he was usually a range of emotions. Slightly amused at their discomfort, which usually spanned from concern for his roommate, still lying in bed, waiting for the person to leave. 

And he’d been there for most, if not all of the sessions. Usually every two to three days, Kenny would drag someone else back, and Craig would continue whatever he had been doing, headphones in. 

Kenny didn’t know that there was nothing playing when he had them on. Not for voyeuristic reasons he had ascertained. There was another reason. 

All of the people. They were there only to satisfy themselves, and then they’d leave, and Craig would never see them again. He had a good eye for faces and names, and not once had he seen ‘Joel’ or ‘Ben’ or ‘Tristan’ ever come back for another go at Kenny McCormick. 

And after it was over, usually no later than 11 on a school night, sometimes as late as 4am on a weekend, Kenny would do one of two things. He would pretend to be asleep, and Craig would let him be. Or he would sit up after the person had left, and would ask if Craig wanted to do something. Usually Netflix, sometimes video games, sometimes it was lying on Craig’s bed and listening to music. Takeaway was almost certainly a guarantee, unless they decided to catch a midnight viewing of a film out, in which case takeout food became popcorn and shitty junk food snacks.

And Craig never...said anything. Because he knew Kenny would never really want to elaborate. And it was none of Craig’s business really, that Kenny seemed to bring home so many people. 

It wasn’t even the amount of people that was the issue. Craig didn’t care if it was thirty people a week. It was something else he’d noticed. And it came back to earlier points. Kenny’s silence during sex, the lack of intimacy. The sessions always seemed rushed, quick, getting from A to B. And that would be fine, if it for even one moment looked like Kenny was enjoying any of it. Even one person. If he’dve been into them, what they were doing (or not doing), Craig would have likely hit play on his Spotify, and continued on with what he was doing. 

But they’d been roommates for almost a year now, and friends for...god, how long had they been friends? Almost their whole life. 

Not that they’d always been so close. They’d been friends, but ‘nod in greeting’ kind of friends. Occasionally work together at school, or hold hands during school trips as kids. That sort of level. But as they’d grown, and friend groups had started separating and spreading out into more niche groups, Kenny and Craig became the two person group that was known as ‘other’. 

‘Other’ was the type of group that wasn’t into sports beyond a passing grade, wasn’t into academics beyond as passing grade, was too nerdy for indie, rock and punk groups, but too punk, rock and indie for nerdy groups, was too broken to be preppy, and not broken enough to be goth or emo. They were too lazy for try hard clubs, but weren’t lazy enough for stoner groups. They would occasionally smoke, but only when stressed, not socially, and they would drink, but not to student party weekend levels.

Their two person group was an amalgamation of alchemy gone wrong, too many elements added, but not enough of any one element. They didn’t ‘fit’. But it had never been a problem between the two of them. They fit just fine in that regard. And it had been logical for the two of them to move into the same room for college. It was a combination that worked beautifully. Neither were uptight or strict, but they weren’t slovenly. It was as close to roommate perfection as could be hoped for. 

Of course, they had their disagreements and annoying habits. Craig took long showers, he admitted it, and sometimes, it made Kenny late. And Craig should probably feel bad for that, except Kenny got his own back by sitting outside the door, singing ridiculously poppy songs. And eventually it would cause Craig to leave the bathroom, swathed in steam, a towel and his own dark irked manner. He would flip the blond off, who would always dodge the attempt Craig made to bulldoze him as he left the bathroom. He’d then steal the bathroom, and typically, Craig usually left something in there he needed, like his phone. 

The end lesson would be that they occasionally ended up late to classes, due to each other. 

Sometimes, it was a wonderful, beautiful thing having Kenny around. Craig could not cook, could never be arsed to learn, so usually defaulted to ‘snacks within reach’. He was different to Kenny, who LOVED food with a burning passion. And sometimes, he’d go all out, dancing around the kitchen, humming along to whatever playlist took his fancy that evening, usually making something amazing, that he always shared with Craig. And he’d always do it in his dumb aprons.

Those stupid aprons. Craig called them Kenny’s ‘housewife’ aprons. Kenny had hotly replied that you could be a man and cook, but damn straight he’d make an amazing housewife one day. 

Kenny had three aprons. One orange, one pink, and one a navy. 

Why did Craig know this? 

He’d hidden them once as a revenge prank, and after refusing to tell Kenny where they were, ended up with wet hair from a Gatorade attack. Which of course led to a food war in the kitchen. One that the other students in the dorm had been witness to, and decided that ‘tonight was takeaway night’. 

Craig had only won because he’d managed to pin Kenny, and threatened to pour marinara sauce into his hair. Kenny had called it quits, laughing. 

Naturally Craig had done it anyway. Turns out marinara sauce was Kenny’s shade, and Craig had commented as such. He hadn’t expected the blond to nuzzle enthusiastically into him, hair covered in marinara sauce, now transferred partly to Craig. 

They too had decided that night was ‘shower, takeaway and Netflix night’.

And Craig glanced at Kenny as he entered the room just then, slightly drunk, but nothing over the top about his mannerisms. And as per standard, he wasn’t alone. Craig simply reached for headphones. It was easier on everyone involved if he didn’t even acknowledge them coming in. They had a system. Craig always turned a blind eye, and Kenny would explain that yes, it was fine, no, his roommate didn’t mind. 

And Craig could always see them pause in the reflection of his screen, as if wondering for a moment if it was worth the effort. 

But then they’d always look at Kenny, and decide they didn’t care if he had a roommate awake, at the computer, for all intensive purposes ignoring them. 

And Craig knew why that was. Anyone with eyes could tell you why it was. 

Kenny was pretty. In a very obvious, noticeable way. He had features that would make people double take. Craig had seen it. Kenny had the look of someone pure, innocent. Until he smiled and hid your keys in your shoes anyway. In reality, he was anything but. But he looked it. And that was all that the type of people he brought back cared about. He was pretty, and cute, and fragile looking. 

People liked to break, liked to spoil pretty and fragile things. It was why people always enjoyed learning that someone was a virgin. Because it was something that could be lost, and not regained. And people who took that sometimes took a particular pleasure from the idea of that. 

Craig’s ex had been like that. Years ago, learning that Craig had been a virgin, well, it had been pretty words, and coercing mannerisms. He had been older than Craig by a few years, and Craig had only been sixteen. And it was a damn hard lesson to learn. 

Sometimes, people just wanted something from you, and once they had it, they didn’t care anymore. Still, at least for Craig, there had been a lot for him to take away and learn from that encounter. One of them being that sex could destroy a person, if they let it. 

Which led back to why he never played music when Kenny had someone over. Because Kenny wasn’t...Kenny when he had these guys over. 

And it was always guys. They’d talked about things like this before, each sitting at their own desks, trying to throw cheetos into each other’s mouths from the distance between them.

_“Craig, you ever...thought about being with a girl?”_

_Craig shrugged. He didn’t really think on such things too much. Anyone he’d ever dated had been a guy. He hadn’t really cared about the labels that came with it. If a girl came along and he liked her, then that was fine as well. But it hadn’t happened yet._

_He aimed, and threw, and it hit Kenny in the nose, falling to the carpet._

_“What about you?” Craig had asked. Kenny shrugged._

_“I dunno man. I grew up thinking dudes were supposed to like girls. Even used to have porn mags.”_

_“You dated girls as a kid, right?”_

_“Yeah. I’ll be honest though, it was more what they were promising than actual interest. I mean...a hole is a hole right?”_

_And Craig caught the Cheeto that had been tossed his way, considering the answer as he chewed._

_“That how you see things? ‘Just a hole’.”_

_It was Kenny’s turn to shrug._

_“I guess. And I dunno, you have to work so much harder with girls than with guys. Girls want the romance and the wooing and the time and the effort. Guys just wanna bone. Kinda cuts to the chase a bit better to be with guys, yanno?”_

_Craig considered the words carefully._

_“You don’t like romance?” He aimed carefully, and it once again bounced, but Kenny caught it with his hand, popping it into his mouth._

_“I don’t think romance and sex are interlinked. Sex is...sex. Romance is the mushy stuff we overlay when we wanna have sex, but don’t wanna come out and say it. It’s easier if people understand sex is on the table.”_

  
  


It was always guys, supposedly because it was ‘easy’ and ‘a hole is a hole’. The whole concept was so...apathetic. Which was a little worrying. 

Because Craig had a shitty start with his first introduction to sex, but it had gotten better, with better partners, with relationships. With Kenny...it felt like it was getting worse with every person he brought into their room. 

And this person now would be no different. 

“Who’s that?” The person spoke. 

“Ah, my roommate, don’t worry, it’s fine, he’s cool with it.”

And Craig counted the seconds of pausing that everyone took, while the cogs in their mind turned, while they measured getting laid vs having what they considered a voyeur. In Craig’s opinion, they didn’t need to worry, he just considered it a nuisance. Besides, no one had ever walked away. 

And after a moment of deliberation, the guy reflected in his monitor nodded. He wasn’t bad looking Craig supposed. Black hair, tall. As usual. Kenny had an odd fascination for that type of person. Each to their own he supposed. 

And thus far, things were going as expected. Craig was bored more than anything. He was considering Chinese as an option for tonight, if Kenny decided he wanted to hang out. He knew that Kenny had an essay due in a few days that he had been bitching about, but Craig had told him it was his own damn fault for leaving it so long. Plus, maybe it made him an enabler, but if they were both honest, they both knew Kenny wasn’t going to work on that essay tonight. 

And Craig yawned lightly, looking over at the clock on his desk. Kenny had made it for him. It was an led style one, and had been a project of Kenny’s. Apparently for Craig’s birthday, except he’d gotten it in April with apologies for it being three months late. 

22:48

And that was when his ears picked up on the words. 

“Fuck….You can fucking tell this isn’t your first time. Even without lube, so easy...”

And there was no reply. Occasionally the person Kenny brought back attempted ‘dirty talk’. Most of the time it was eye rolling at best, cringe worthy most of the time. 

“You realise don’t you? What people fucking call you? Fucking McWhoremick. That’s your nickname around the campus. And you know what they say about you?”

Craig paused what he was doing, straightening ever so slightly. 

“They say you’ll spread your legs for anyone who so much as asks. Doesn’t matter who they are, you’ll just bend over and take it.”

And Craig was wary, but not on alert. Some people were into humiliation, were into this. And Kenny hadn’t made any complaints. 

Still...It put him on edge. 

“Guess they’re right, huh? You little fucking whore. Prancing around campus looking like that, it’s no wonder.”

“Dude...that hurts, don’t pull so hard…”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll pull as hard as I want. You’re here for MY pleasure, not the other way around, so you’re gonna lie there and take it like a good bitch.”

“Enough...I...I don’t wanna do this. Stop.”

“You know I don’t even actually LIKE you right? I fucking hate you. That’s why I agreed to this. Because you needed to be shown your FUCKING PLACE.”

“G-get off me!”

“Shut the fuck up. We’re done when I say we’re done, McWHOREmick.”

And a harsh slapping sound. 

And Kenny. Kenny who never made a noise during sex, made one there. 

One of pain. 

And that was around the time Craig snapped. He was already up, and roughly yanking the guy off of Kenny, almost flinging him across the room. The guy looked a mixture of embarrassed at being exposed, and angry. 

“What the actual fuck?”

“Get the fuck out.” Craig spoke calmly, quietly. The guy widely pointed in Kenny’s direction. 

“What the fuck has it got to do with you? This ain’t NONE of your business.”

“...I’ll give you five seconds to grab your clothes, or I’m kicking you out of here as you are. Five.” Craig replied, a cool tone in response to the stranger’s harsh anger. 

“You can’t-“

“Four.”

“Fuck you man, this isn’t-“

“Three.”

“I’m not gonna take this shit from-“

“Two.”

And it was only then that the guy stopped, and looked at Craig, saw the calmness, but the absolute determination, and the...look. The look that said he would absolutely follow through with his promise without any hesitation. And it was in that moment that he decided. Gathering his clothing, he hurried out of the room, the door banging closed. 

And Craig took a moment, one moment, just for himself, to calm the rage and anger he felt. It...wasn’t needed. The person it was directed at was gone. And he looked over to Kenny, who looked at him, his duvet now tightly pulled over him. 

He looked...relieved, but…

“I...thanks…” He spoke quietly, averting his eyes from Craig’s. Craig could see the harsh red mark on Kenny’s cheek, and the slight shallow scratch where skin looked as if it has been torn off slightly. And Craig sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked softly. Kenny shook his head tightly. 

“I’m sorry for disturbing you. I didn’t think he’d...be like that.”

Kenny didn’t need to apologise. But Craig stood, heading for their en suite. And there was running water, and then he returned with a flannel. 

“Put that on it. It looks bad.” Kenny took it. 

“Fucker bitchslapped me while wearing a ring. What a dick.” Kenny muttered as he took the flannel, pressing it to his face with a slight wince. 

And Craig sat back on the bed, at the edge, giving Kenny space. And Kenny rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not a china doll. Here, I know it’s kinda gross considering what me and that prick were doing, but I’ll laundry your clothes tomorrow if it really bothers you. Come sit.” And he patted next to him on the bed. 

Like hell Craig was gonna let Kenny anywhere near laundry, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he slid over to comply, so they sat shoulder to shoulder. Once again, Kenny had foregone removing his T-shirt during the act. 

“So...yeah...that didn’t go great.” Kenny chuckled bitterly, pulling the flannel away to analyse the small speck of blood he’s left on it, before returning it to his face. 

“He sounded like he hated you.” Craig commented. He wasn’t about to be judgemental. And Kenny sighed. 

“Yeah, I’d always kinda wondered. He always seemed so..standoffish, but then tonight, he asked to dance, and I thought ‘hey, maybe I got it wrong.’ Looks like I was just a joke, or a weird..I dunno...revenge fuck or something. Who knows why people fuck. That’s a new one though. Usually they just wanna get off. But, I dunno…”

“He wanted to hurt you.” Craig responded carefully. And after a moment or two, Kenny nodded. 

“Yeah, I guess he did….dick. And I don’t fucking ‘prance’ around campus.”

“You can’t, unless you’re wearing an apron at least. And then you do plenty of prancing.”

And Kenny snorted, elbowing Craig. And then his expression sobered. 

“Hey Craig. Can I ask something? Something kinda...weird.”

“Because the question earlier about whether snow is just ‘fluffy ice’, was a normal question..”

“Craigory, I have a lot of heart, a lot of curiosity and a lot of elbow.”

“Noted Kenneth. Proceed.”

“Why do people enjoy sex so much?”

Craig leaned back on the shared pillow, Kenny shuffling and pulling on it to offer Craig more. 

“Sex...is supposed feel good. When done right. Even for those that enjoy pain, the end result is pleasurable.”

“So...all these guys, they feel good when they fuck me, right?”

“...It’s not just about their pleasure you know. You’re a part of it. And if you say no, or you wanna stop, they should fucking listen."

Craig was getting pissed off again, and he forced his thought to cool and calm. It was over, the guy was gone, and he wouldn't be coming back.

Plus anger wasn't the tone he wanted to show Kenny. Calm and gentle was. 

And Kenny had gone silent for a moment at his words, but spoke up just then.

“I don’t think...sex has ever been something...pleasurable. Not really. People really like it though.”

“...Kenny, why do you do it if you don’t enjoy it?”

Kenny sighed noisily. 

“Well, cos, I get all these feelings, you know, and then naturally, it leads to fucking. But...it never ends up being what I hope, no matter how many times I do it. I feel like...I dunno, maybe I’m broken or something. So I figured, hey, I can’t enjoy it, but people like doing me, so why stop. And then...at some point, it became normal.”

“So, you just let people use you?”

Kenny gave a shrug. 

“I guess, yeah. A hole’s a hole, right? Why not mine? People like to fuck me. I don’t know why, but they do. And it feels kinda selfish to say no to that.”

Craig wanted to tell Kenny how stupid he was being. And on any other day, he would say it without even a pause. But...Kenny needed some gentleness right now, so he held his tongue. 

“Craig, do you like fucking?”

“Depends on the person. And their intentions. Sometimes people do just want to get laid.” And Craig left it at that. But something must have shown in his expression, something that Kenny could see despite his controlled emotions.

“Has that ever happened to you?”

Dammit. 

“...Yeah, when I was younger.”

“What happened?”

“...Older boyfriend. Wanted sex, young, stupid Craig, went along with it. Bad idea.”

And Kenny lay his head on Craig’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke gently. 

“It’s in the past. I’ve moved on from it. Had better experiences since then.”

And they sat there for a moment, listening as one of the dorm mates outside shut and locked their door, talking loudly on their phone. The voice faded into nothing eventually. 

“Did I ever tell you that Stan used to fuck me?” Kenny spoke quietly, his head still on Craig's shoulder.

“Stan as in Marsh?”

“Yeah. He was so into Kyle. Like in a big, big way. But Kyle was straight. So, he’d fuck me, pretend I was Kyle. And I just wanted to help out a friend. He was my first. And then eventually, he moved on, found a girlfriend, tried to hide the ‘gay’.”

“Marsh has always been a fucking idiot. Massive people pleaser. So busy looking good in front of other people he never looked at what he wanted.” Craig scoffed. Kenny looked up. 

“That’s pretty on the nose. You’ve always been good at that you know.”

“Good at what?”

“You get people. Like, you just...figure people out. You don’t usually do anything with it, but you know. Like that dickweed in class, on the first day, how he was trying to weasel out of the group work. You already knew and had a counterattack ready, and you’d barely even spoken. I always found that kinda cool. You always got people better than I did.”

“...I don’t get you.” 

“Say what? Dude you know me better than anyone.”

“I don’t get why you...purposely do things that hurt you, just so you can help other people. You’ve always done that. When we were kids as well. Remember? You became the bad guy and let everyone beat you up so people would stop fighting over that dumb stick.”

Kenny laughed. 

“Ah jeez, you remember that?”

“You never did quite outgrow the princess phase.”

“Dude, having a pink apron is NOT girly.”

“You have pink converse as well.”

“Also not girly.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m not taking fashion advice from the person whose wardrobe is blue, blue, black, blue and oh, BLUE.”

“You make me sound like a bruise.”

Kenny laughed. 

“Dude, don’t ever change. Please. I need y-that side of you. You have no idea.”

And Craig couldn’t really say anything in response. He didn’t do anything. If anything, Kenny was the one that made everything just...worth it.

But he didn’t say that. 

“So princess. If you’re feeling better, this humble thief wishes to spend the remainder of the evening in far livelier pursuits.”

Kenny quirked an eyebrow. 

“What were you thinking?”

“Chinese food and Splosion Man?”

“Dude...that sounds perfect.”

And for a few hours, they messed around, shouting obscenities at each other, the screen. Kenny almost instigated a second food war after flicking a noodle at Craig, but was saved by the angry voice of their dorm mate telling them it was 2am on a Wednesday night and to shut the fuck up. This had sent both Craig and Kenny into conspiratorial, poorly suppressed laughter. 

And eventually, they migrated over to Craig’s bed, (because they could not be arsed to deal with the mess they’d made on Kenny's bed) and just lay there, side by side. Craig was a person of habit, and he’d stuck shitty glow in the dark stars on the ceiling above his bed. Because it reminded him of home, and because he’d been told not to by the dorm room inspectors. He’d been tempted to stick them in the shape of a middle finger, but felt it was probably overkill. 

Plus, he preferred them in constellation locations. 

And Kenny reached both arms up, as if reaching for the stars.

“Hey Craig.”

“Mm?”

“What does...pleasurable sex feel like? You’ve felt it right?”

“With the right person, it feels...amazing.”

“Amazing huh….”

And Craig looked over at Kenny, who had lowered his outstretched hands. 

“You know, you could find it. If you decided you wanted to. You’re unlikely to find it with one night stands though.”

“I don’t know how. It’s like...those stars. You have them to guide you, so you see things clearly, and you know things are out there. But...my sky is dark, and I have no clue. So I just stumble from person to person, hoping that something will change, you know?” And he glanced over at Craig, who had been watching him speak. 

“You wanna know a secret?”

“Sure.”

“Everyone always said I was ‘easy’. And yeah, they were totally right. Total manwhore. But, I always thought, if I fucked enough people, eventually I’d find one that...liked me, or something. Wanted to stick around. Wanted to get to know Kenny. But I must not be that likeable. Probably because of the sleeping around thing. Everyone wants a go, but no one really wants to keep. I guess I can understand that...but, is it so bad, that even someone like me, just...wants to be loved? Just a little? Just like, a tiiiiiiny bit”

And Kenny pinched his pointer and thumb together to show how tiiiiiiny he meant. 

  
  


“Kenny.”

“Yeah?”

“You know...if you want people to love you, even just a little bit, you should love yourself a little bit.”

Kenny’s eyebrows rose at that, and he looked perplexed. And Craig quickly clarified. He had the most terrible way of putting things, didn’t he?

“You’re underselling yourself. There’s a lot to love about you. A lot. You’re...well, I mean, you shouldn’t think you only deserve a tiiiiny amount of love.” And Craig copied his finger and thumb gesture. 

“You should find someone who loves you more like this.” And Craig spread his arms wide. 

“Because...if you only show people this small amount, they won’t see you. If you only show them an easy time with anyone, that’s all they’ll think is there. And that’s not true, there’s so much more there-“ 

And Craig shut his mouth. Before he put his foot in it. 

“....Craig.”

“Kenny?”

“Can I..ask you something?”

“What’s up?”

Kenny squirmed and fidgeted for a moment. 

“..Ugh, never mind.”

“Kenneth.”

“Craigifer?”

“What’s up? You can tell me.”

“...How did you know I needed help today?”

Shit. 

“I mean, you’re always off in your own world on your pc. Why was today different?”

“Kenny. You’re my roommate. I’m not gonna let some dipshit do things to you and not notice.”

“Because I’m your roommate?”

“Because you’re my..”

His what exactly. 

“...Kenny. Because you’re my Kenny.” Craig finished awkwardly. 

Dammit, he should’ve said friend. 

And Kenny laughed into his shoulder. Understandably so. That had been a dumb thing to say.

“What does that even mean?”

“Your name is Kenny, right?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re...mine. What’s not to understand?” Craig felt like he was digging himself into a hole here, but couldn’t figure out how to reroute it onto safer territory. He was trying to style it out, but….

“Hey, Craigexander.”

“Kenneth.”

“You...ever notice...something about the guys...I bring back?”

“Should I?”

“I mean...I guess I’m surprised you never put two and two together. I have a clear type.”

“Cool? I’m glad for you? Should I write to the local newspaper and let them know?”

Kenny laughter.

“Such an ass. You know that?”

“I’d like to thank my family, my friends, my Kenny, for this award of being an ass. This is for you.”

“Okay you diva, think about it. All the guys I brought back were always tall.”

“Yeah? Guys tend to be tall. Well, most guys. Not you I guess. What are you, 4 foot 2?”

“I’m a respectable 5 foot 8 I’ll have you know. Asshooooole.” Kenny singsonged, and Craig sniggered. 

“Anyway, back to your ‘dream guys’.”

“Wouldn’t go that far. They’re my ‘type’. You know, would ‘fuck them to the moon and back’ type. So, tall. And they always have black hair.”

“...Congratulations for having a type I guess?”

Kenny sighed, knocking his head against Craig’s shoulder.

“You’re so fucking bony, you realise that right? You make a terrible pillow.”

“It’s one of my fatal flaws. My Achilles heel. People swoon over my charming attitude, my cheery demeanor, but oh, my bony body, my terrible pillow supplying body, that's where it all falls apart."

And despite his words, Kenny was doing a great job of positioning himself to lie on said ‘bony shoulder’. And then he yawned. 

“Craigington?”

“Kenneth?”

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

Craig shrugged. They’d shared beds before. And there was a lot of mess on Kenny’s. 

“Sure. I have class tomorrow though, so no lie-ins.”

“Noted.”

And Craig just observed as Kenny found the crook between his shoulder and neck, before settling.

“Craig...You ever think it’s...weird we do stuff like this?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Sharing a bed, using you for a terrible pillow. That kinda stuff.”

“Why would it be?”

“Do...friends do that?”

“It’s no weirder than some of the other stuff we get up to.”

“...That’s true I guess.”

Kenny sounded...off. 

“You okay?”

This time when Kenny laughed, it was a weak one. 

“Yeah. I’m...good. Just thinking.”

“What random thought have you cooked up now? Which 3am thought are we going to discuss in great length? Let me guess: _'Craigasaurus, what if the reason we trip over words is because the person writing your dialogue made a typo?'_ "

“I have never called you Craigasaurus...regrettably. And I don’t sound like that.”

“Sounded pretty much like you.”

“Oh yeah, well this is you: _‘Oh I’m Craig, I have a face like a brick wall but really I’m plotting on how to torment my poor Kenny person, because I just roll that way. I’m also real perceptive in some ways, but UTTERLY CLUELESS in other ways.’”_

“Your Craig could use some work…So, what were you really thinking about?”

“...Stuff.”

“Ah, stuff.”

  
  


And there was a moment of silence, where Kenny shuffled to get comfortable, quietly complaining about Craig being Skeletor, but still trying to use his shoulder as a pillow, rather than the actual pillow in easy head reaching distance. Eventually, Craig gave a huff of impatience, and lay the pillow on his own shoulder, and then directed Kenny’s head onto it. 

And just to be obstinate, Kenny took the elegant solution and removed it, and the pillow from the vicinity (he threw it across the room and laughed at Craig’s sigh), before returning to his prior positioning on Craig’s shoulder. 

“Why the hell do you even do that if it’s that uncomfortable?”

“It’s not...really. I’m just teasing you. Because you wouldn’t eat if takeaway or my supreme cooking skills didn’t exist.”

“True. If food didn’t exist, I wouldn’t eat..” Craig mocked thoughtfully. 

“You know what I meant!” And Kenny elbowed him lightly in the ribs. Which Craig knew Kenny was well aware was a sensitive spot. And he flinched accordingly. And Kenny repeated the motion, digging between ribs. 

“Dude. Don’t start a battle you can’t finish.”

“Ooooh Craigamin, that sounds like a challenge..”

And they spent a few minutes tussling. Craig was more ticklish, but Kenny was easier to pin, so predictably, it ended the same way it always did, Kenny’s hands safely pinned and well away from his ribs. Kenny was heavily amused rather than annoyed.

“You’re so ticklish man.”

“You’re so weak man”

“Oh but Craig wait! Look into my eyes, I think...yup, we’re having a ‘moment’.”

“...Have you been watching romcoms again?”

“Just fucking look.”

And Craig reluctantly looked. As expected, Kenny was still pretty. Was still Kenny. Yup. Can confirm, Kenny was still Kenny. Still had blue eyes, still looked mischievous. Although, that look was fading, and now looked…

“Shit, this backfired.” Kenny said quietly, looking at him.

“Kenny.”

“Craig?”

“...I…”

Shit. 

“I...hey look, do me a favour.”

“What?”

“Stop going for jackasses and bringing them back here.”

  
  


Kenny blinked, and then nodded. 

“Ah...yeah, sorry man, I’ll try and go to theirs instead, my bad.”

“No I...that’s not what I meant.”

And Kenny frowned. 

“So, it’s okay to bring them back?”

“No I..fuck, Kenny. Stop doing this shit to yourself. Please.”

“What stuff?”

“I..”

Craig couldn’t do it. 

“Just, there are plenty of people out there that won’t treat you like trash. Find one of those. Stop letting people hurt you.”  
  
  
And Kenny just...looked at him, in silence. For a long moment.

“...Craig. You remember when we tried to make pizza?”

Craig blinked at the...confusing change in conversation, releasing Kenny’s wrists as he considered the question.

Craig remembered. It was their first week at college, in their dorms. They’d been overtaken by ‘student fever’ and tried to make it. Tried being the key word. Kenny had done most of the work, Craig had stood there eating the toppings, and making a mess. And Kenny, with floured hands, had rubbed them through Craig’s hair roughly, cackling as Craig had made pursuit with the bag of flour. 

Needless to say, neither had left unscathed, and in the distraction, the pizza had burned. Craig had rang for a delivery pizza. The night was a great success.

  
  


“Craigster?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just remembering. We made a mess that day.”

“Yeah. A lot happened that day.” And now Kenny was released, and Craig had returned to his lying down position, he turned to face him, so they were eye to eye.

And god didn’t that just make things both tantalising and difficult?

“What made you bring that up?”

“Well, that was the day I realised what my type was.”

“Black haired tall boys, right?” Craig scoffed. Kenny shook his head.

“Not that one. See, here’s a secret. My type isn’t actually black haired tall boys.”

“It’s not?”

“Nope. They were an attempt at a substitution I guess. But you wanna know what my type is for real?”

Craig nodded slowly, his eyes on Kenny’s, who looked slightly nervous. 

“It’s idiot boys with their head in the stars, who are shit at cooking, okay at video games but not as good as me obviously. Boys who I realised that day look good even with flour in their hair, boys who look out for me even when I don’t realise they are. Who fucking hide my aprons, take far too long in the shower, and always hog the blankets when sharing them, but try to make it up by oversmothering me with them when they realise, who always have cold feet, and bony shoulders. Boys who've missed every single hint I've given about them being my type, despite being so perceptive in other ways. Stupid, idiot boys who for some reason never clicked that THEY were the reason I had a type. An...idiotic, dense, tall, black haired boy with who I’d...wanna…find out...if what he says is true. About...stuff being...pleasurable...and stuff.” And it was at that moment that Kenny flushed and averted his gaze. 

Was this...

...Was it what he thought it was?

Shit, it was, wasn't it? 

This evening had taken a turn he hadn’t expected, one he’d never considered nor prepared for. And his brain was currently ice cream left out on a park bench in the summer heat. It was sticky, melted and fucking everywhere. 

Did he make a joke? A quip? He'd not been given any time to prepare for this, and was kind of...a mix between giddy and panicked.

What did he say? 

“Laundry.” Was what his brain supplied to his mouth. And Kenny glanced back over, incredulity in his expression.

“Say what? Now? Really Craig?”

“.....You had cooked, so I did the washing up. And you’d offered to do the laundry. Except you’ve always sucked at it. You don’t separate out colours and lights. You should really do that you know."  
  
  
"Oh ho, the laundry king has spoken and found me unworthy."  
  
"Laundry-wise, absolutely you're unworthy. But yeah, that day, you’d read the box wrong, and put too much soap in. It was like a fucking sitcom gag, except you’d actually done it. And I remember you running upstairs, panicking, because it had overflowed. And you’d tried to remove some of the soap bubbles. I don’t know what you’d planned to do with them, but you turned up in the dorm kitchen, with handfuls of bubbles, bubbles in your hair, everywhere, and you had such a panicked expression. And when you ran into the kitchen and shouted _'Craig! What the fuck do I do with these bubbles?!'_ I lost it.”

“I remember. You could not stop laughing. There was me panicking, fucking bubbles in my arms and nowhere to fucking put them, and you’d just doubled over laughing, not helping at ALL.”

“That day, two things happened. One, we agreed you’d never be allowed to do the laundry ever again. Two, I realised I had a type. For short blond boys who can’t wash clothes to save their life, and who look fantastic with marinara sauce in their hair. Who are decent at video games, but not as good as me, who like to prance around the kitchen in an apron whilst cooking, and are willing to resort to dirty methods to get me out of the shower. Who complain at blanket hogging, but always kick the blankets off themselves anyway. Who...for some odd, strange reason, bring guys back so they can be hurt, because I can fucking tell they aren’t enjoying any moment of it, and I don’t get why they do it to themselves and I wish they’d stop because…”

Kenny was wide eyed at this stage, and when he spoke, it was with a whisper.

“Because what?”

And it really wasn’t difficult for Craig to close the distance. Because action was always better than words. And the kiss was gentle, just an answer, He wasn’t taking anything, just answering. 

“...Because I really want that stupid, blond boy I love to realise how good it can feel, if he just...stopped letting people let him think that he’s not worth so much more.”

Silence.

  
  


Silence

“..”

“..”

“....Craigison.”

“...Kenneth.”

“...Just to confirm. You said you loved me, right?”

“Nope. I said I loved a stupid blond boy who wears marinara sauce like this year’s runway fashion. Whoever said it was you?”

“And the kiss?”

“Damn….forgot about that. Yeah, okay, you caught me. I guess I love you. Idiot.”

“You did not just ‘forget’ about our first kiss’, asshole.”

“I think I did. You need to refresh my memory Kenneth.”

“What about the dark haired tall star boy who I love? He might think I’m betraying him.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand. Worse comes to worst, I’ll kick him out of the dorm.”

“I would pay good money and time to watch you kick your own ass.”

“Ooor, counterpoint. We could stop the banter and kiss.”

“We could, but where’s the fun in th-“

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“..”

“...Okay, you make a strong argument for your kiss.”

“I thought you might see things my way.”

“Craiger?”

“Kenneth.”

“I think I forgot our second kiss.”

“You’re so forgetful.”

“Show me again.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crenny Prompt: Craig and Kenny are roommates and Kenny comes home late one night, drunk, with some random guy (who may or may not be tall and have black hair). Craig normally doesn’t get too involved when Kenny brings someone home but, the way this guy is treating Kenny just doesn’t sit right with him.
> 
> ****
> 
> Honestly, (although they totally are homo and aren't in denial of THAT), I so see their relationship like the lyrics of Bro Duet, with random stories of escapades, and hints they give each other and then they try and hide when the other catches on, and claiming 'nah, it's fine', when really they're like 'dammit, WANT'.  
> And the idea that they’re already doing all these very coupley things they already did before dating, and it was just what ‘friends’ do is adorable.  
> New flash my boys, being all domestic (doing each other's laundry) and sharing a bed and cuddling up close probably isn’t as platonic as you’re thinking...XD. To be fair, they're clueless. I mean c'mon Craig, tall and dark hair and you didn't make the link?? XD The AMOUNT of hints Kenny gives you as well. 
> 
> Also, the nicknaming, repetitive, but so cute <3


	11. The WeeQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS: If you haven’t seen South ParQ: Vaccination, don’t read this. There are spoilers.
> 
> Also, the hug I imagined is inspired by this piece by Magenta-Pint: https://magentapint.tumblr.com/post/645392141044121600/kenny-their-beloved
> 
> It's...too perfect, and I hope it was okay that my mind imagined this a lil when writing the hug scene.

* * *

##  The WeeQ 

Song: David Guetta - Goodbye Friend

* * *

  
  


“Okay Kinny. So, we’re gonna start hanging out a little differently from now on.”

  
  


Kenny looked up from the iPad that he was still being allowed to use. Honestly, moments like this, where he could borrow something of Cartman’s, were rare, and they were usually...well, when Cartman was trying to make him feel better?

And Kenny hadn’t questioned it. Everyone was going through a tough time at the moment. Stan had been...quieter since his build a bear moment. Kyle was just...there. Like he just existed, but he wasn’t really there. 

So, initially, it had been up to himself and Cartman to just….try and DO something. Anything to bring back the spark of friendship. Cartman kept calling it ‘broship’.

He hadn’t expected their prank to go so wrong. He hadn’t expected it to lead to the point they were now. Where their teacher was dead. Where his friends were sharing glances between them.

He kept hearing the term “2-2-3” discussed quietly between them. And honestly, he felt a little...left out. What was going on exactly? Why was he being asked to wait outside, why was Cartman being so...nice?

And every time he tried to ask what was going on, or tried to get involved, he’d get shot down. He was being asked to step away, or step aside. To amuse himself. 

Maybe...the guys didn’t like him anymore. And were trying to subtly move him away, and move on. To..forget about him. 

Did he do something wrong? 

He’d be the first one to admit, he hadn’t seen much of the guys recently, but..stuff had happened. Stan had moved away, Covid was a thing. He didn’t want to pressure anyone. He got it. 

But...he didn’t like being forgotten about, or left behind. Even if that’s what the guys wanted, it...kinda sucked. 

It already happened a lot more than he wanted in their day to day, but he’d come to terms with that, as best as he could. It wasn’t his friends, or anyone’s fault if no one remembered when he died. He was cursed, right? He’d sort of learned to live with it. 

But this. This...slowly losing touch, being asked to move aside, step outdoors while they talked. It was worse somehow. This wasn’t the work of people not being able to remember him. They were asking him to step aside for some reason, and he just...didn’t get it. 

Maybe he was overthinking things. Maybe Cartman was just being nice for nice’s sake? And he’ll admit, he went along with what they were asking him to do, let himself get distracted with the shiny that was iPad. It was actually kinda nice to be able to escape the world for a little bit. And it was what they wanted right?

He didn’t know what else to do. And the niggling feeling hadn’t gone away.

His breaking point, when he just had to say something, came 

“Well I guess this is it.” Stan said

“Yeah” Cartman sounded...resigned

“I guess this is what is best for everybody” Kyle sounded...reluctant, but in agreement. 

And Kenny was so done with this coded talk. And he had had enough.

“What are you guys talking about??”

And Stan was quick to step in. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay Kenny. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“And I’ll come pick you up on Thursday Kenny.” Kyle added, seemingly in a manner he thought would reassure him. It didn’t. 

“.....Huh?” Was Kenny’s only reply. 

“Hey, I wish you guys all the best, huh?” Stan spoke.

“Thanks, I’ll be fine. I already got some new bros I’m hanging out with.”

“Hey Cartman”

“Yeah.”

“Dude they’re reopening Casa Bonita this weekend. Do you wanna come with us?”

And Clyde stood there with Jimmy, and a..kid Kenny didn’t know. 

“Casa Bonita?? Hell YEAH I’ll come! Oh wait I can’t. I have fucking Kinny this weekend. Shit!”

And Cartman tore off his hat.

  
  


Stan and Kyle had both facepalmed, and Kenny had looked between them. Kyle had looked away, Stan had plastered on this weirdest smile. 

Kyle was being weird with Stan and Cartman, Stan and Kyle were being so weird with each other. Cartman was being so weird with him. The three of them were being totally bizarre with him. 

They were being so fucking WEIRD

And this was exactly the kind of thing he’d wanted to avoid when he and Cartman first plotted to get the group back on the right track. Did he do this? Was whatever that was going on his fault?

And it was at that moment, he’d called out.

“Guys..what the hell are you all talking about?!”

  
  
  
  


….And now, stood on the sidewalk, they were all just there. Just...looking at him, and Cartman was speaking. 

About change? What change?

Kyle had sat on the sidewalk, head leaning on his arm, listening, but looking so...frighteningly acceptant of what Cartman was saying.

Why? Kyle almost always disagreed with Cartman’s ideas. Why was he vaguely nodding along to what Cartman said?

“What do you mean differently?” Kenny asked slowly, looking between them for answers. And not necessarily vocal ones. They had..something painted all over their faces. 

Concern. Guilt. Affection. And it was Stan who answered him. 

“Look, Kenny...you know that we all love you dude, right?”

Stan was being protective. Something was very wrong. 

“We just...realised that the four of us don’t really have the same feelings for each other as we used to. It’s not the same as it was.” Kyle eventually spoke, still looking away. 

“Well yeah, that’s why me and Cartman tried to fix it to start with.” 

“Some things….can’t always be fixed. But we’ve all talked, and don’t worry, we’ve come up with something that will make everyone happy, okay?”

“Yeah! It was Cartman that came up with it. We’ll all hang out at different times, on different days.”

“...Right…?” Kenny was really confused. 

“It’s simple Kinny, Kyle gets you for two days starting on Monday, I get you Thursday and Friday, and then Stan gets you for the weekend. Then we switch. I get you starting Monday, Stan gets you Thursday and Friday and Kyle gets you for the weekend. It’s-“

“Wait, wait. So...you THREE have decided we’re drifting apart. So, you THREE thought you’d discuss how to solve this, between the THREE of you, about how it would affect ALL of us. And then the THREE of you came up with a system that revolved around who would...get me on what days, like I’m some kind of kid?”

“Kenny...you are a kid...”

“We’re ALL KIDS!”

“Kenny, Kenny, it’s okay, chill out dude. It’s gonna be fine.” And Stan was there, trying to placate him. And Kenny didnt want that right now. Didn't need it. He needed answers.

“It’s NOT gonna be fine. You guys...I don’t wanna break up.”

“Dude...It’s just...time. We gave it our best shot, and hell, we had some great times. I just think…"

And Kyle stepped in to help what Stán was clearly struggling to say.

“...The magic is gone, we are through. We...want to move on with our lives. But, we thought we’d compromise. Because...honestly Kenny. I don’t think we really like each other anymore.”

What? That wasn't true. They'd had a tough patch, but they were still all friends, right?

“That...that’s dumb. Of course you like each other. You’re friends. Stan, Kyle, you’re like...you’ve always been friends. We’ve always all been friends. Why suddenly now?” 

And something in his expression must have worried them, because Stan was there, putting hands on his shoulders.

“Kenny. Think about it. It hasn’t been...right for a while. Just...take a minute to-“

Kenny shrugged Stan’s hands off him. He didn't want...

He didn't want comfort. 

“I...Okay. If that’s what you guys want. I get it. It’s fine.”

And Kyle gave him a look, standing up.

“Kenny. You sure? We can talk about this if you want to.”

“Nah, it’s okay, I get it. Let’s do it. So, Cartman, we’re hanging out at the weekend right?”

“...Yeah.”

“Cool. Cool. Sounds like a plan. I don’t want us to stay together just cos, you know?” And he gave a weak laugh. 

And he wished that Stan would stop looking at him. 

“So, I’ll see you guys.”

“...Yeah. We’ll see you Kenny.”

  
  


* * *

Stan watched as Kenny left. He took that a lot...better than he thought he would. 

Everything was going to be alright. Things ended, right?

And he looked to Kyle, who looked back at him awkwardly for a moment, before looking away. 

“So yeah, I guess this is it then.” Kyle spoke. And Stan wanted to feel sadness at that statement. But he didn’t, he just felt a morose agreement. 

“Yeah. It is.”

Silence between the two of them. And it wasn’t a silence of peace, of comfort. It wasn’t the companionable peace of knowing each other well enough to not need to say anything. It was...nothing. It wasn’t even awkward. It just wasn’t. 

Stan didn’t know what to do from here.  
  


* * *

Kyle was so tired of all this. It felt like a rerun of the same thing over and over. And it had happened. They’d been friends, had existed long enough for him to become the person he used to chide Cartman for being. 

He didn’t regret it. His parents..he hadn’t wanted them to die. He didn’t want anyone to die, he just…it had been such a hard decision. Everything was a hard decision recently. Conversations were difficult, stilted. He’d been unable to help the person he’d been closest to, during his hardest time, because there was only so many times you could tell people ‘it’s gonna be okay’, ‘there’s light at the end of the day.’. Sometimes, long after the words had ceased to be effective, problems still remained, and couldn’t be fixed with a magic speech about what was learned. 

He’d always been the person to try and fix things with words, with communication. And today, he’d..not communicated. He’d just done. Quietly, sneakily. And his precious person had seen. And if there had been a crack in the glass before, this was the thing that shattered it entirely. And they’d both felt it. 

And the space between them was empty now. He couldn’t give Stan the things he needed. And Stan no longer trusted him, and he no longer knew Stan as the person he used to be. They’d all changed. 

And fuck, he’d never really liked Cartman that much anyway. 

* * *

Well, he’d handled that badly. His fucking temper always getting the better of him. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out in front of Kenny. And he’d probably made Kenny feel like a burden now. 

He didn’t stay up all night making those Rotas because Kenny was a burden. The three of them, yeah, they’d all kinda lost their broship, they no longer clicked. But he kinda...wondered something. 

Was there a link between hanging out less and this breaking down? Because there was one thing they all shared in common, despite their disagreements and slowly building apathy towards one another. 

They all liked Kenny. Kenny fit perfectly into the spaces between them. He’d been Cartman’s scapegoat too many times to count. He’d been Kyle’s shoulder to lean on when Kyle and Stan were at odds, and Stan’s shoulder to lean on when visa versa. He always stepped between them if things were getting out of hand. He took insults, but gave what he got. And he strangely kept them in the know when they didn’t know more adult aspects. Kenny and Cartman sometimes had overlapping sense of humour.

That was it wasn’t it?

Kenny overlapped with each of them in some way. 

And he was able to traverse the overlaps, to keep them aligned. 

So, why had that stopped working?

And Cartman stood there, in the oddest awkward triangle between them, trying to figure out why. 

  
  


—————-

SATURDAY

—————-

Kenny had tried. He’d put on a good face. And he and Cartman had hung out alone before and it had been fine. They usually did a mix of their own things, a few movies, occasionally prank a few people. 

And Kenny wasn’t dumb. He saw Cartman glancing at his phone, at the notifications from Clyde. The images shared. Casa Bonita. 

Burden. 

And he’d laid there that night, trying to figure out what to do. He didn’t want to be an obligation. He never wanted that ever.

He’d do his best. 

————

SUNDAY

————

Clyde had asked Cartman if he’d wanted to hang out today. And Cartman had looked back at him, and shook his head at Clyde. 

“It’s cool dude. Go hang out. I’m supposed to be back early today anyway.”

Cartman had looked at him unsurely. Such a weird expression to see on his face. And he’d given a grin. 

“It’s cool. I’m gonna head off now anyway.”

And he’d left Cartman with Clyde, heading home. 

————-

MONDAY

————-

Stan had met him after classes, and asked if he wanted to hang out at his.

Burden. Obligation.

Kenny wanted to say no. 

He said yes. 

And they hung out, talking about stupid things. And there was a moment, where Stan had started a mini rant, and glanced over, as if expecting Kyle to back him up. Or challenge him. Because Kyle had always done one of the two. 

Kenny preferred to listen, to think about it. And the lack of contribution was an aching void. 

—————

TUESDAY

—————

This time, they’d hung out around town. They’d debated catching a movie, but most of the movies they would’ve gone to see, just weren’t vibing with them. 

Cartman was usually the one that hyped them up about new releases, made it so they had to see them. 

And eventually they’d ended up walking and talking again. And Stan kept..glancing over at him.

Stan didn’t really wanna be here, right? He wanted to be elsewhere. Maybe with Kyle. Why was he just with Kenny?

Stan walked him to his. And as they said their goodbyes, Kenny realised something. 

It was one of the few times he was actually glad to be home. 

——————-

WEDNESDAY

——————-

Stan felt…so weird. Wednesday was study group day for the four of them. It had been an attempt to get their work up to scratch so they’d avoid detention. Kyle had initially suggested it, and Stan had been up for it, Kenny had agreed. Cartman...well he’d bitched at first, but it became their nice schedule. And Kyle had been right, it had kept their grades up, despite Cartman’s efforts to derail it.

Instead, he was in a repeating circle, where he’d go to his computer, mess around, eventually give up, head to his bed, then check his phone. Scroll through messages and updates, then decide he was being lazy, and go back over to the computer. 

He couldn’t help but wonder what everyone was doing right now. 

* * *

Kyle was stuck. On this problem. It was a tricky one, and he had to keep stopping himself from glancing over towards the bed. 

They’d always studied at his, and had a predictable habit pattern. Cartman always fought him for the desk chair, before ended up petulantly grabbing one of the chairs from the dining room downstairs. Kyle would tell him to put it back and just use the bed. 

Stan would take advantage of the bed, knowing full well that CArtman wouldn’t end up sharing it. He’d somehow sprawled his things out on the duvet. How he had worked like that Kyle didn’t know. 

Kenny preferred the floor. Despite offers to share the bed. And he alternated between working, listening, reading through magazines, playing PSP and doodling. He always handed his work in with doodles on. Miss Nelson had gotten far too used to it at this stage. 

Kyle ignored the empty spaces in his room, and focused on the problem. 

The problem he’d been going to ask help on. 

* * *

Cartman lazed in front of the tv. Snacks abound. 

“Poopsie-kins, aren’t you usually at your little friend’s places right about now.”

“No mom.”

“But-“

“Go away mom.”

“Okay then hun. Just be sure to do your homework, okay?”

Cartman rolled his eyes. What was the point? Mr Garrison was back. It wasn’t like they were actually going to learn anything of use anymore. 

And that was his fault. 

He didn’t usually regret any of his pranks. But this one, well, it had caused a chain reaction. And it wasn’t as if he was a stranger to death. He just didn’t realise that they were learning things for a while. 

He scoffed, stuffing a mouthful of cheesy poofs into his mouth. 

Who cared? 

He didn’t miss anything. 

  
  


* * *

Kenny lay there, staring at the ceiling. Counting the cracks again. 

He was dreading tomorrow. 

—————

THURSDAY

—————-

“You ready to go dude.”

“Yeah..just let me...grab my books.”

“Cool. Did you manage to get your math work done?”

“No.”

“Oh, cool. Need some help?”

“Sure.”

Kenny followed Kyle. He met eyes with Craig for a moment.

* * *

2021 was turning out to be just as messed up. And Craig hated it. But as always, he got on with stuff. And all of the kids were back now, and they could pretend they were learning things again. Joy. 

And it was as he was shutting his locker that he saw something. 

Kenny looked over to him. 

And Craig sighed as he looked away. 

Something was very wrong. 

What the hell had those three done this time?

* * *

  
  
Kenny seemed...quiet. 

He was usually quieter anyway, but this seemed…

Kyle shrugged. They were studying he supposed. He just wasn’t used to such emptiness. Was it because…

No. They all just needed time. Time to get used to this change. It would all be fine. Nothing was wrong. 

  
  


—————

FRIDAY

—————

He couldn’t do it. 

He couldn’t do this anymore. He’d tried, and it was driving him crazy. So, he’d left class early, gotten a hall pass to use the bathroom. And he stayed there when the bell rang. Maybe Kyle would think he’d gone home. 

And he’d left the bathroom after about ten minutes, but had panicked when he’d seen red hair, a green hat, clearly looking for him. 

And he’d turned, run into someone. 

And he didn’t know why the words came out of his mouth, but they did.

“Hide me.”

* * *

  
“Hide me.”

Craig looked to the blond, who was looking nervously back at Kyle. And he didn’t know why he did it, but as Kenny shrunk back into the corner where the lockers ended, Craig stood in the way, blocking him from view. 

And miraculously, it had worked. And the redhead walked past the two of them, towards the entrance of the school, looking perplexed. 

Which left Craig feeling...slightly bemused. 

“...Is he gone?” A voice asked. And Craig, without turning back, nodded. And Kenny slunk out from behind him. 

“Uh...thanks.” He mumbled to Craig. 

“...Fighting?” 

“Uh...no. It’s complicated. I’m supposed to hang out with Kyle tonight, but...I don’t wanna. But..I guess I’ll walk around for a while or something.”

“Why not just go home?”

“..Don’t wanna do that either.”

Yup. Things were different now. So he grabbed Kenny’s arm. Who looked up in surprise.

“Where..”

“Mine. Hurry up.”

And Kenny didn’t argue. Just followed. 

* * *

Where was Kenny? Had he gone home? Did he forget it was their night to hang out? Maybe he thought he was supposed to be with Stan or Cartman. 

He didn’t want to, but…

  
  


* * *

  
  
Kenny looked around the room. He’d not really..been here before. But, it wasn’t Kyle, Stan or Cartman’s room, and it wasn’t his, so he’d take it. 

Why the hell was he here though? That was the million dollar question. 

And Craig just gestured. 

“Sit wherever, I don’t care.” The tone was dismissive. And Craig usually was, to most people. Abrasive, blunt, never emotional. 

“Uh...thanks?” And Kenny sat on one of the two chairs in the room. 

Honestly, he hadn’t seen much of Craig. Usually, it was Craig and Tweek. 

So, why was he here, why had Craig dragged him here?

“Dude. I’m really grateful, but, why am I here?”

Craig, currently focused on checking on his guinea pig (wasn’t it called Squiggle or something?) glanced back. 

“You didn’t want to go home, and you didn’t want to go to Kyle’s. This was a logical option.”

“Uh..well, thanks. I appreciate it. A lot. Like, a LOT.”

And Craig sat down in the other seat. 

‘So, what’s going on McCormick?”

“Huh? Nothing.”

“Uh huh. You looked upset yesterday. And today, you were running away from your friend.”

* * *

  
  
Stan got up at the doorbell, secretly relieved that something was happening. This week had been so boring. 

He hadn’t expected Kyle at the door. 

“Uh…”

And they stood in silence for a moment. 

Why was Kyle here? Why?

And why did he look as if he didn’t want to be here? If that was the case, then why WAS he here?

“Listen Du-Stan. Did Kenny come to yours after school?”

“No. Why would he? It’s your day.”

“Yeah, but..I kinda lost him after school.”

“You LOST him??”

“Maybe he’s at Cartman’s? I haven’t checked yet. I came here fir-“ And Kyle closed his mouth. 

“Whatever, I’ll ask Cartman.” And Kyle turned to leave. 

“Wait.”

Kyle glanced back.”

“I’m coming.”

* * *

  
  
Kenny still wasn’t saying anything. So, it was up to him then, huh?

“Mr Garrison killed my tutor last week.”

And that did the job. Kenny’s head whipped towards him so fast. 

“What? Why? How?”

“I’m not really sure. Didn’t really question it. Just a part and parcel of the messed up stuff in this town. His teacher’s assistant choked her right there.” And Craig pointed. And Kenny looked, half horrified, half curious. 

“It’s been a weird year. For everyone. And that’s multiplied in South Park. There’s no way anyone got away unscathed.” And he gave a pointed look. 

And silence for another moment. 

“The guys. They don’t wanna hang out anymore. And they decided this between the three of them. I wasn’t allowed to be involved. They-they treat me like I’m a kid. They have no idea how many times I’ve looked out for them. They forget, every single time. I’ve always tried to keep them safe, and now, they’ve decided I need to be wrapped in cotton wool. And they’ve made this stupid-ROTA thing. Where they all ‘get me’ two days a week. Like, they don’t wanna hang around anymore and they don’t like each other, but I’m just like the kid in a divorce. And I didn’t get a say, or a choice. And they hid it from me. And I just want us to all be friends, or at least TALK about it. But they did all the talking themselves. And I HATE it, and I hate hanging out with them like this, because I’ve become that fucking obligation. That thing people feel they HAVE to do. And I don’t want that Craig. I don’t want it!”

And Craig watched as Kenny got more and more incensed as he spoke. And he waited for him to be done. 

“Tell them.”

And Kenny balked. 

“Tell them?”

“Yup. Tell them you don’t like this.”

“I’ve TRIED. They cut me off. Like they’ve decided this is best for me. And I know it’s because they care, I just….I don't want that. And I don't..want things to change. I just wanted things to be the way they'd always been, but they aren't, and I feel like I'm....being left behind. I don't wanna be left behind...”

“People change you know.”

“I know that!” And Kenny swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“But, people don’t change at the same time. And they’re trying to drag you along with their change. You need to tell them that.”

“I…”

“I don’t hang out with my group anymore you know.”

Kenny looked up. 

“What? Why? They’re your friends, right?”

“We’d always started drifting after me and Tweek started dating. And then me and Tweek started...drifting. It was gradual. We didn’t make it into a big thing. It was natural. You guys are trying to force it.”

“That...makes sense. But...what if I don’t want things to change?”

“Change is gonna happen whether you want it to or not. People are always changing. And you might wanna try and keep things the same, as it’s always been, because it’s comfortable, and safe. But people don’t work like that. Even if they try to protect you from it, it's gonna happen. All you can do is move on, find new people that fit the changes you’ve made, and go from there."

"But...that really sucks."

"It does. And it'll suck for a while. But that's life. Life sucks sometimes. But it'll pass McCormick."

It wasn't gentle advice.

It kinda stung if he was honest. But, it made him feel...like it was what he'd needed. And it made him realise that maybe the guys weren't the only ones to blame here. 

They were coddling him, but they'd only done that because he was so unwilling to let go of what they had.

“...I’ve never heard you...talk this much before.” he eventually replied.

Craig shrugged as he settled back into the chair.

“Guess I’ve changed too.”

* * *

“You fucking LOST him?” Cartman screeched at Kyle. 

“Dude, chill out.”

“You fucking chill out. You lost Kinny! The first week and you lost him!”

“And I THOUGHT he might have thought he needed to be at yours, or Stan’s.”

“For the love of-“ And Cartman grabbed his phone, typing furiously. 

The notification ping on both phones made them check.

‘DUDE. You fucking posted it on Facebook?”

“It’s the quickest way to find him. Someone has probably seen him.”

“....He’s got a point dude.”

“Don’t fucking dude me. Cartman always does this shit. This is one of the reasons we ended things!”

Silence.

“...Look, let’s just find Kenny.”

* * *

They were watching a Ghibli movie. And after twenty minutes, they were lounging and just...chilling. 

And it was during a moment when Kenny was laughing that Craig felt the vibration from his phone. 

  
  


**Cartman**

_Anyone seen Kenny?_

  
  


**Wendy**

_Is he missing??_

**Kyle**

_No. We just got separated. Just trying to find him._

**Clyde**

@ _Craig Tucker. Weren’t you two talking at school?_

And Craig started typing. 

**Craig**

_Nope. No idea._

**Stan**

_If anyone sees him, let him know we’re looking for him._

  
  
  


Craig put his phone away. 

The ‘parent wannabes’ could survive a night. 

  
  
  


————-

SATURDAY

——————

“Hey, guys. Can I talk to you?”

“Dude, we were so fucking worried about you.”

“Where were you?”

“You could’ve messaged.”

Kenny sighed, and pulled down his hood. 

“Guys. We need to talk.” He said firmly. And they fell silent. 

“Look. I...really, really care about you guys, a lot.”

“Same here dude-“

“But. Seriously. You treat me like a child. You left me out of these conversations you were having.”

“We wanted to protect you.”

“Our group has fallen apart. I wasn’t the only one that needed protecting. And this weird rota thing. I love that you guys all care that much you wanna hang out, but having a rota? It’s weird. I’m not a toy to be shared, y’know?”

“I...wanna protect you guys too. You’re going through this as well. We’ve all changed, we’re moving on. And okay, I’m not...ready for that like you guys are. But that’s my problem, not yours. I don’t want to be that person that forces you to have to...keep up things just so I won’t be upset. I KNOW this is hurting all of you, even if you don’t wanna admit it. And...that’s okay. Because we’ve been friends for a long, long time. You don’t just end things like that and it’s all okay.”

And Stan and Kyle glanced at one another. 

"And...some of this is my fault. I didn't want us to change, I wanted us to stay the same, I didn't want to just let us drift. I tried to force that. And because of that, I put you guys in a situation where you felt you had to preserve **something** for my benefit. I'm sorry."

And Kenny looked to Cartman.

“Cartman, if you wanna hang out with your new friends and do cool stuff, that’s fine. I don’t want to be a burden, or an obligation. We’re friends. Just...I dunno, tell me you’re busy, or to fuck off or something. Don’t pretend.”

Cartman looked as if he was going to argue, but then hesitated, and closed his mouth. 

"Stan, it's okay that you miss Kyle. I know I can't replace him. Same with you Kyle. You guys really care about each other. And hanging out isn't the same when we're not all there. And it's okay if hanging out doesn't work the same way as it did when we were all together. We just need to adapt, right?"

And Kenny felt like was tearing up just a little. He regretted putting his hood down. Too late now.

“Point is. You’re still my friends, and I appreciate what you were trying to do. And yeah, I got upset by the idea of us not being a thing. But that’s something I need to learn to deal with, just like we all need to. Just….let’s still hang out sometimes, okay? Even if it's not all together. We don't need a rota for that "

And then, Kenny was hugged. By Stan. 

“Dude. We’re sorry man...I didn’t realise. We all like hanging out with you. You're not an obligation.”

“I know. And Stan, I know you’re hurting too. I’m here man. Two way street.” Kenny replied.

And Kenny squeezed his friend back tightly. And then looked at the other two. 

"That goes for you two as well. Life has sucked, and I know you're here for me. I'm here for you too. Let me protect you guys as well, okay?"

And Kyle sighed.

“Yeah okay, we’ve all been kinda shit with all this stuff, with all of us. Guys, I was...really shitty with the whole vaccine thing. And not telling you all.”

  
  


Stan held out an arm,

“C’mere Kyle.”

Kyle stepped into the now three way hug.

“Dude I’m so sorry man.” Kyle said into Stan’s shoulder.

“I get it dude. I’ve been real shitty this past year. I know I should’ve said something.”

“Kinny. No way. Like, I feel bad and all, but that’s super gay.”

“C’mon fatass….”

“Dude. It’s not gonna kill you. You’ve really been there these past few months man. For all of us.”

“Cartman, don’t be lame.” Kenny gestured.

And Cartman stepped forward with a groan. 

“Fucking fine….you’re lucky it’s you Kinny. God I hate you.”

And Kenny laugh cried as the four of them shared a moment.

“Fatass, are you crying?”

“Shut up Jew! Don’t pretend you’re not!”

“Guys, can we all just have a moment and cry in peace without an argument?”

* * *

————

MONDAY

————

It was weird. But better. They didn’t hang out anymore, but they were no longer avoiding each other. They still said hi that day at school, made small talk. And they caught up for a few minutes during lunch.

Later, after they’d gone their separate ways, Kenny was left to his own devices, sitting at a lunch table. He looked over to Cartman, who sat with Clyde and Jimmy, and the kid he didn’t recognise. Kyle was sitting with David and a few of his friends, and Stan and Token were sitting on the end of a table talking. 

It felt weird. But it was gonna be okay. He would still hang out with them all. But separately. And on their terms, not dictated by guilt, overprotectiveness.

Or a damn rota.

" _Goodbye you guys_." He spoke quietly to himself.

“You sort things?”

Kenny startled, and looked over at the voice as Craig slid into the seat opposite him. 

“Yeah. I think so. It’s gonna be weird, but I don’t feel like I’m holding them back. We’ll still hang out, but out of choice now.” And he gave a sad smile. 

“Cool. So, wanna hang out after school today?”

Kenny blinked. 

“You wanna hang out?”

“Yup.”

Kenny glanced to his old friends. Cartman was shouting at Clyde whilst Jimmy laughed. Stan pointed over at the lunch queue, and Token was craning his neck to see. Kyle was...laughing at something David had said. 

And sometimes life sucked. 

But it would pass.

“You know what Tucker? Yeah. Let’s do it.”

* * *

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn’t a prompt. Just wanted to write it.
> 
> Summary: Kenny struggles with change. The guys make it harder and try to hide it. Craig gives Kenny some advice.


End file.
